Destination: Christmas
by Old English D
Summary: A sequel to 'The Mistletoe Incident'. Della's life is forever altered when she spends Christmas with Perry and his family.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Note: This story is a continuation of an older story, 'The Mistletoe Incident', to which it refers heavily, with bits of 'New Direction' and 'Spoiling It' thrown in. Merry Christmas! ~D _

Standing in the foyer of Valerie and Bartholomew Mason's expansive but cozy home, Della Street realized she was welcome.

And expected.

The realization made her suddenly nervous.

It was baffling and unsettling, because she herself hadn't known she'd be anywhere near California, let alone Utah, for Christmas.

Perry hadn't been out of her sight in over twelve hours, so she knew he couldn't possibly have made a telephone call to his brother's house.

Could it be that since she had accompanied Perry to the Mason family Thanksgiving gathering in Los Angeles his sister-in-law had merely assumed she would accompany him to Utah for Christmas?

She hadn't thought about propriety or what reaction to her presence would be when Perry insisted that she spend Christmas with his family. Maybe she should have. But there really had been no time nor the inclination to think, not after spending four horrible days away from him with her awful family and finally stepping into his embrace, first beneath a fortuitously placed sprig of mistletoe and then on the dance floor, where they remained until the band packed up. She was so dang happy to be home and with Perry that nothing else mattered. They drank champagne, held hands, and stole kisses whenever they could beneath that hidden mistletoe, staring into each other's eyes as friends and colleagues whispered and winked. There wasn't a single thought spared for anyone or anything aside from the two of them living in whatever moment they became aware of.

Deciding that a twelve to fifteen hour drive to Utah would be too tiring after the tough week they had both endured, they decided to charter a private plane, and after stopping for breakfast at an all-night diner, boarded Byron's v-tail Beech Bonanza E35 for the two hour flight to Ogden-Hinckley Airport.

Which was how she came to be standing in the foyer at the home of Valerie and Bartholomew Mason on a Sunday morning, dressed in a sublime silk ball gown under a gorgeous fur coat, holding tightly to Perry's hand out of nervousness.

Valerie Mason drew Della into a warm hug, and to her great surprise, her husband Bart actually kissed her on the cheek. There was a terrible noise as Perry's three nephews tumbled down the stairs, whooping excitedly that Uncle Perry and Miss Street were there. All three teenagers hugged Della enthusiastically, and after being carefully instructed by their mother where to put every piece of luggage, scrambled back up the stairs even more noisily, jostling and squabbling the entire way. The youngest, Brett, banged against the wall, having been squeezed out by his brothers, and Valerie shook her head.

"Bart has already fixed three holes in the wall this year," she said with an indulgent sigh, turning her cheek to accept a kiss from her brother-in-law.

"They fix the next hole themselves," her husband announced gruffly. "There is no reason they have to go up and down those stairs like wild animals. Remember how startled Ken's little girl was while she was here yesterday and what she said when Brad came downstairs? 'What's that boom-boom-boom'? Pictures almost fell off the walls."

"They're _**boys**_, Bart. We're lucky the entire house hasn't come crashing down around us."

"If my two cents is worth anything," Della spoke up, "I think they are perfectly charming."

Bart grunted. "Give it a couple of hours and we'll revisit what you think." He ignored the frown his younger brother directed at him behind Della's back.

"Men are generally on their best behavior when Della is around," Perry commented, placing his hands on her shoulders and helping her out of the beaver coat.

"Oh!" Valerie exclaimed when Della's gown was revealed completely. "It's even more beautiful than I remem –" she bit off her words at Della's wide-eyed look of panic and slight shake of her head.

The men didn't seem to notice the little exchange between the women. Both heaved little sighs of relief.

"Where have you two been?" Bart demanded. "Those are pretty fancy duds for travelling clothes."

Perry flashed a grin at Della. "Last night was the Bar Association gala. Della and I outlasted the band, grabbed some breakfast, then overpaid our favorite pilot to fly us here so we wouldn't waste fifteen hours driving."

Bart grunted again. "Kids these days. Remember when we were silly enough to stay up all night, Val?"

"The band was _**very**_ good," Della offered, and Bart just stared at her as Perry snickered. She bit her lip, remembering the last time her wit had gotten her in trouble with Bartholomew Mason.

Valerie smiled and linked her arm with Della's. "I'm so glad you're here, Della. It will be nice having another woman around for Christmas." She started toward the kitchen with Della in tow, but Perry stopped her.

"Val, we've been up for the better part of twenty-four hours, and the flight here was actually Della's second in forty-eight hours, so would you mind if we go upstairs and wash some of yesterday off of us? Besides, I hardly think Della's gown is proper attire for being your sous chef."

"Omigosh, why of course! I should have thought of that, but I'm just so happy that you're both here." She patted Della's arm. "Follow Perry. He knows where your rooms are. Dinner will be at one."

"I'd like to help with dinner," Della began.

"Nonsense! You're our guest. I don't know why I tried to drag you into the kitchen in that gown. Just excited I guess." Valerie turned and headed for the kitchen, motioning for her husband to follow. "There will be plenty of meals for you to help with in the next few days. Get cleaned up and rest for a while. I don't want to see either of you for at least two hours."

Perry slipped his arm around Della's waist after his brother and sister-in-law had disappeared into the kitchen. He had detected Della's nervousness the instant Valerie flung open the door and by giving her an excuse to be by herself he hoped to quell those nerves. "Are you still nervous?"

She looked at him, startled. How did he know? "Not as much," she said slowly. "I think maybe I was overwhelmed when Valerie seemed to expect me to be with you. Even Bart was nonplussed at finding me on his doorstep."

Perry guided her to the stairs and stepped back so she could precede him to the second floor. "I was surprised by their reactions, too," he admitted. "I didn't tell them I was bringing you."

"That's a very bad habit you have, Chief."

"Do you not want to be here, Della?"

Della stopped and turned to face her employer. Her perfume was faded but still detectable, her curls still bouncy, her eyes still clear and bright. She looked incredible for having so little sleep the past three days. She bent forward and placed her hands on his shoulders, affording him a perfect view of her perfect bosom. Her lips were soft and cool when they touched his lightly. "I'm very pleased to be here with you and your family, Mr. Mason."

He smiled crookedly at her. "And I'm very pleased you're here with me and my family, Miss Street. I'll see that Bart behaves."

She kissed him again. "Don't worry about your brother. I have his number." She spun with a swirl of silk skirts and continued her ascent with a natural unaffected sway to her slender hips.

"I'll just bet you do," Perry said under his breath before following his secretary up the stairs.

* * *

Della couldn't have been more pleased with the guest room Perry led her to and presented with a flourish. Appointed with pearly white hand-carved French provincial furniture, ice blue satin duvet, matching satin drapes over filmy cream shears, and permeated with the scent of lavender, it was the single most feminine room she had ever seen. She gasped at the unexpected beauty of the room and Perry pulled her to him in a quick hug.

"Valerie's pride and joy," he said, taking in the cream walls and thick cream pile carpet. "The only room in the house that is completely hers. Bart let her remodel it for their 15th anniversary. I've never even been allowed to stay in it. I always have to bunk in Bart Jr.'s room, which is, to say the least, not as nice-smelling as this room."

Della tossed back her head and laughed. "I can't believe I get to sleep in a room like this."

"It isn't nearly as beautiful as its occupant."

She clutched the lapels of his tuxedo in her hands and snuggled against him. "Thank you."

"I only speak the truth, Della."

She yawned loudly. "To me," she mumbled against the pleats of his shirt, eyes drooping with the fatigue she had managed to disguise up until that very moment.

"Take a bath and get some rest. I'll come get you," he glanced at his watch, "in one hour and forty-five minutes." He kissed the top of her head and turned her toward the en suite bathroom. "I think you will be impressed with the bathroom as well."

"I feel like a princess," she said, and yawned louder than before, a two-note vocalization.

"That is a perfect set-up line, but I've already complimented you today. Can't spoil you too much."

"Yes you can," she said, staggering toward the bathroom.

Perry stifled a laugh. "Does the princess require assistance getting out of her gown?"

Della stopped at the bathroom doorway, turned her head, and tucked her chin into her shoulder as she swept her gaze up and down his tall frame with utter disdain.

The stifled laugh became a chuckle. "I meant would the princess like me to send up a handmaiden to assist getting her out of her gown?"

Della waved her hand at him dismissively. "Away with you. The princess is completely capable of dispatching with her gown by herself."

"Don't drown in the tub or suffocate in that feather bed," Perry warned right before closing the door.

Della took a shower, not a bath, and it was heavenly after sitting in cramped airplanes and dancing in three-inch heels for more hours than she could count. Her muscles were stiff and complained with every movement once she surrendered to utter weariness caused by three days with barely five good hours of sleep. She considered crawling into bed sans night gown because it was such an effort to open her suitcase, but felt that since she was seriously offending propriety by being here with her employer, the least she could do was clothe herself properly while a guest in said employer's brother's home. There were impressionable teen-agers present, after all.

She set the alarm clock on the bedside table to ring in an hour, and fell instantly into a deep sleep, a happy smile on her face.

* * *

Perry knocked lightly on the guest room door and leaned against the jamb, ankles and arms crossed. It took Della two minutes to open the door, but whatever she had done in those two minutes was totally worth the wait.

"Hi," she fairly sang. "Is what I'm wearing all right? I didn't ask if we were dressing for dinner."

Perry bestowed a huge grin on her. The dress she wore was one of his favorites: a heather green long-sleeved shirtwaist of the softest wool with big brown buttons lined up from collar to hem, cinched at the waist with a brown suede back-buckle belt. Three-inch brown suede pumps and a carved wooden bracelet pulled the entire outfit together impeccably. He had watched several judges and opposing attorneys gape at her when she wore the dress to court and was incredibly proud that his very capable, extremely efficient, _indispensable_ secretary was such a treat to the eyes. Those men were jealous of him because of her obvious beauty but if they truly knew her, knew how intelligent and witty, how loyal and intuitive, how kind and generous she was they would literally burst into flames with red-hot envy.

"It's perfect," he said, still grinning at her like the cat that ate the canary. He offered her his arm, and she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow while pulling the guest room door closed behind her.

"I take it you had a nice nap," Perry observed.

She raised sparkling eyes to his as they reached the stair landing. "How could I not in that gorgeous room?"

"I'm glad one of us had a good rest."

"Oh come on, BJ's room can't be all that bad."

"He's a teen-age boy. Do you have any idea what teen-age boys smell like?"

Della slapped his arm and laughed as they descended the stairs. "I can't for one minute believe that any room in this house is less than spotless. There isn't a speck of dust anywhere or a knick-knack out of place."

"And Val does it all herself," Perry announced with pride in his sister-in-law. "Bart and I don't agree on much, but the one thing we do agree on is that he married the best woman in the world."

"I know you don't like it when I say this, but you are a very good, very nice man, Chief."

They had reached the bottom step and Perry turned to face her. One hand cupped her face while the other rested at her waist. "Make that the _**second**_ best woman in the world." His head dipped and he touched his lips to hers.

"Oh my," she whispered as his teeth nipped her bottom lip and his tongue swept soothingly across the tiny bite. She tilted her head and parted her lips in invitation.

For several moments they stood in the foyer, exploring familiar contours, tongues plundering and searching, barely breathing. Perry's arm circled Della's waist and pulled her against his solid frame and she moaned, a purr deep in her throat he had never heard before and it shook him to his core. It was Perry who broke the kiss, Perry who adjusted her dress, Perry who wiped lipstick from her chin with trembling fingers.

"Chief," she said, catching his deeply blue eyes with her own, which were dark green and misty. "This…being here with you and your family…it could change everything."

"Change is good."

"Sure. As long as the change is good."

Perry smiled tenderly at her. "What are you getting at? You said you weren't uncomfortable being here"

"I'm not. I love Valerie and the boys. Bart is an acquired taste, but I'm sure I'll get used to him."

"What about me?"

"I like you."

He kissed the tip of her nose. Being liked by him, he had discovered, was very important to her. And being liked by Della Street was a great compliment indeed. "I like you, too."

"Chief, earlier…when I was nervous…it only lasted a moment. Valerie hugged me I wasn't nervous anymore. It was so different from how my own family greeted me..."

"Are you going to tell me about your trip home?" He asked as her voice trailed into silence.

She shook her head and glanced down briefly. "I don't think so. At least not until after Christmas. It's not a good story. I wasn't there five minutes when I realized that home is L.A. Home is _**you**_."

It was times like this, when they were so close to everything he hoped for, that her youth tripped him up. He had run the gamut of women and knew exactly what he wanted and needed, but she was still discovering so much about herself. Her admission demonstrated that with aching clarity. "Della," he said gently, "you've always told me you prefer the journey over the destination."

"Some destinations are be better than the journey."

"That's a very masculine viewpoint, my dear."

"It's a very human viewpoint. Getting to know you, working with you…our friendship…it's been the best journey of my life." She had never known she could be so close to a man without actual intimacy being involved. Everything with Perry Mason was a new, different experience for her and she couldn't imagine what her life would be like without him in it.

"I told you we'd have fun."

"If everything changes, if the destination isn't what either of us thought it would be, will the journey be enough to…"

Perry wrapped her in his arms and crushed her to him, mouth slanting over hers almost desperately. "Our journey isn't over, baby. In relative terms, I think we're at the very beginning. I'm glad you came home to me."

It wasn't rejection, she knew that deep within her heart, and appreciated his patience and honesty. There really was so much at stake. Even so, she couldn't help but be a little bit disappointed in herself for virtually throwing herself at him. "There is one more thing…"

Perry's shoulders shook with silent laughter. She pleased him so much. "Yes?"

"My Aunt Mae can never, _**ever**_ know that I came home early and spent Christmas with your family."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I can't believe we bought the same dress," Valerie said to Della, who had finished drying the last dinner plate and was putting it in the cabinet. "You're so fortunate to have a talented designer like Estelle as a friend."

The reason for Perry's huge grin and assurance that Della's dress was 'perfect' turned out to be that Valerie Mason was wearing the very same dress in blue. Bought during her trip to Los Angeles from Estelle's winter collection, she of course had no idea at the time how her purchase would mirror that of her brother-in-law's secretary.

Della closed the cabinet before facing Perry's sister-in-law with a big smile. "I am fortunate. Actually, we bought _**two**_ of the same dresses. In my garment bag is a blue cocktail dress with silver dots."

Valerie let out a delighted laugh. "That's right! We'll have to compare our tastes in more detail. So far I know we have similar tastes in clothing and men."

Della blushed to the roots of her hair and quickly busied herself wiping silverware dry and placing spoons and forks in their proper slot in the cutlery drawer, hoping sharp-eyed Val wouldn't notice her sudden embarrassment.

"Won't we be a pair at the country club dance in the same dress?" Valerie either didn't notice Della's flush, or was tactfully letting it pass.

"I brought another cocktail dress. Everyone needs to see how lovely you look in the blue dress. I'm sure I can't compare to you." During dinner it had been decided that Della and Perry would attend a Christmas party at the local country club the next night for Bart and Valerie's neighborhood, which had grown so large that no house could accommodate it. The prospect of being held in Perry's arms where very few people knew them excited Della, even more so when Perry had reached beneath the table and linked his pinky finger with hers. Bart assured them that a top-notch dance band had been hired this year after a disastrous booking the previous year, and that no expense had been spared on hors d'oeurves or liquor.

"Thank you, but it's nonsense. Estelle designed that dress specifically for you. If you want to wear it, I don't mind at all."

"No, you must wear your new dress and be the center of attention. The other dress I have will be fine. Perry likes it…"

Valerie couldn't let the younger woman's blush go uncommented on this time. "I daresay Perry likes everything you wear, Della."

"He's gotten so famous and reporters are always taking his picture…I don't want anyone to…" she stopped and looked at Valerie for understanding. "He doesn't know what I've been doing to expand my wardrobe. I've been referring to Estelle's shows as 'appointments', which he thinks are dates and it makes him cranky. I'm not dating anyone but I can't tell him the real reason for all the 'appointments'." Her flush deepened.

Valerie made a _tsking_ noise and took Della's arm, guiding her to the kitchen table. She swiftly poured two cups of coffee and set one down in front of Della before taking a seat opposite her brother-in-law's lovely young secretary, whose characteristic poise and confidence had abandoned her. "You were modeling so you could buy clothes, weren't you? Perry mentioned that the two of you were attending several functions together this year. How many did he commit you to?"

"Six," Della admitted with a great outrush of breath she had been holding since before Thanksgiving. "Last year it was only three, but I wasn't prepared, and there were comments…his reputation shouldn't suffer because of who I am."

"Dear, Perry doesn't care what anyone thinks about him, you know that. He would be much more upset if someone insulted _**you**_. You are the nicest, loveliest woman Perry has ever introduced us to, and he's very protective of you."

"He's totally oblivious to gossip," Della agreed, sniffing back tears she didn't want to shed. She already thought of Valerie Mason as the sister she never had and felt comfortable telling her about her clothing crisis. There wasn't anything about the smart, loving woman that wasn't truthful and beautiful, and every word she uttered came directly from her heart. "But I still won't have anyone talking about him and things that don't have anything to do with what he does or what a wonderful man he is."

Valerie blinked at the strength of the girl's feelings for Perry. A lioness protecting her cub – in this case a loyal secretary protecting her clueless boss. Val had known immediately upon meeting her that there was something between the lovely Miss Street and her brother-in-law, and had even prophesized that Della would someday be Mrs. Perry Mason, but she also knew from Perry that whatever was between them had not advanced as far as everyone assumed, and that it was _**Perry**_ who was holding back the most. "Della, you're every bit as good – no, you're _**better**_ – than any of those fools who try to make themselves seem more important than they are by saying belittling things."

"I didn't expect my life would be like this," Della said softly by way of reply. "I didn't expect _**him**_ and what he's capable of. I can't be and won't be a liability to him. I know what I do is important to the practice, that what we do together is important, and I know those who judge him or me for what they know nothing about aren't any better than me, but still…"

Valerie laughed kindly. "That was quite a mouthful, dear. I completely understand. But Della, you can't let this be what rules you in doing your job. Perry tells me he's never had a better secretary."

Della flashed a fleeting smile. "It hasn't been difficult to out-perform his previous secretary."

"Della, he'll probably kill me for telling you this, but I think you deserve to know. Before he hired you, Perry wasn't a very happy man. His practice was mildly successful, but he wasn't giving it everything he could. He was…_distracted_."

"Miss Cavanaugh certainly is distracting," Della said dryly, then gave Val a contrite smile for her cattiness.

"Oh, you've met Laura?"

"Briefly, on a couple of occasions." Della didn't elaborate about the circumstances of their meetings - how the lady lawyer had gone out of her way to make Perry Mason's new secretary feel uncomfortable and inferior.

"Laura Cavanaugh is one of those types of people we were speaking about earlier. She elevates herself by demeaning others. She's cold-hearted, conniving, and about as deep as spilled milk. We all knew she was bad news for Perry, but he saw something in her we simply couldn't." Except for Bart, who saw nothing amiss with his brother when he was involved with the pampered, well-bred Laura Cavanaugh, but Della didn't need to know that. "It was obvious that she would hurt him, and she did, right when he needed her most. He stayed with her, but their relationship was contentious to say the least, and he lost himself for a long time. When she accepted a partnership in Denver, she began working on him to become engaged and move with her, and even arranged for the firm to offer him a partnership as well. She made life very difficult for him."

Della nodded. "Paul Drake filled me in about what was going on at the time."

"Paul is a good friend. He tried to get Perry to see the light about Laura, but whatever hold she had on him was stronger than anything his friends or family could overcome."

Again Della nodded.

"But then this past Thanksgiving Perry showed up for dinner with you. And do you know what he told us?"

"I haven't the foggiest. He can be unpredictable." Della tensed, her imagination vaulting over one scenario after another.

"When Bart came right out and asked if you were the reason Laura moved to Denver, he said no."

Della visibly relaxed. "That's true. Miss Cavanaugh had already accepted the partnership before Perry hired me," she said, slightly confused and more concerned about where Valerie might be taking the conversation than where Perry had begun it. She lifted the coffee cup to her lips for a sip. "I had only worked for him a few weeks when she moved."

"Della, listen to me. Perry said you weren't the reason Laura moved to Denver. He said you were the reason he stayed in L.A."

Della nearly spilled coffee putting the cup down on the saucer her hands shook so much, remembering an overheard conversation just before Miss Cavanaugh left for Denver. _"I'm not letting go of Della,"_ he'd said. Had he known then they would work so well together and become such good friends? Or, dare she consider it, had his feelings been deeper even back then? "I – I didn't know…we were just…we were barely friends at that point."

Valerie leaned back against the chair and calmly sipped her coffee. "And now? What are you now?"

"We're still friends. He's my favorite person in the world."

Valerie smiled mischievously behind her coffee cup. "Do you kiss?"

Della shifted uncomfortably in her chair and looked for something to occupy her hands. A few pine needles were scattered on the tablecloth, having fallen from the live centerpiece. She used her fingers to sweep them into a little pile in front of her. "Yes."

"How?"

"What do you mean, how? We kiss the same way everyone kisses."

"Let me clarify: do you kiss, or do you _**kiss**_?"

Della smiled wistfully. She could still feel Perry's lips on hers from earlier, before dinner. "I would say we _**kiss**_."

Valerie set her coffee cup down and leaned toward Della. "Did I guess right by putting you two in separate rooms?"

"Val!"

"Well, did I?"

"That's none of your business."

Valerie shook her head. "That's where you're wrong, Della. I'm afraid it is my business. I have three sons who absolutely idolize their Uncle Perry, and one of them asked me today if he should call you 'Aunt Della'. Should he?"

Della studied the little pile of pine needles intently. She had never been 'Aunt Della' to anyone. Her brother Carter was not married, and most likely never would marry. And even if there was a woman who could tolerate him, their brother-sister relationship was so strained that if he did procreate, his children would probably call her 'Della Katherine' or 'Miss Della.' She still hadn't thought of an answer for Valerie when the now-familiar thunderstorm of the three Mason boys climbing stairs interrupted her thought process. It was Brett, the thirteen-year-old, who burst through the basement door first.

"Uncle Perry is taking us sledding!" he shouted as his two older brothers crashed to the floor behind him from forward momentum in a tangle of long arms and legs.

Bart and Perry emerged from the basement, calmly stepped over BJ and Brad and made their way to the kitchen table where their ladies were seated. Perry bent and placed a quick kiss on the top of Della's head, in front of his entire immediate family. If the air hadn't already been charged by the topic of conversation, the kiss certainly added a live current.

"These kids," he began, and tossed a look of superiority over his shoulder at his nephews, "think they can get down a hill faster than their old man and their uncle. How about it? Want to witness the snow sledding championship of the world?"

Della looked up at Perry and her heart somersaulted at the carefree expression on his face and the twinkle in his eye. If nothing else, this Christmas holiday was bringing out the boy in her boss. She wondered how long he could maintain this relaxed mood.

"You have to come, Aunt Della," Brett begged, grabbing her hand and tugging. "You and Mom have to be the judges."

Della nearly burst into tears. It had been Brett, sweet, cuddly, serious Brett, who wanted to call her Aunt Della. She should have known right away it was he.

"Yeah, you have to come, Aunt Della," BJ, sixteen and deep-voiced joined in. "I'll drive you and Uncle Perry in Mom's car."

"Don't do it, Aunt Della!" Almost fifteen-year-old Brad warned. "He'll put you in a ditch for sure."

The three boys raced from the room and banged up the stairs to their bedrooms, leaving the adults reeling from the level of energy they generated.

Valerie Mason blatantly stared at her oblivious brother-in-law and his stunned, tearful secretary. No one had missed the kiss, and she wondered if Perry had done it on purpose, or if it was simply a spontaneous gesture of affection. "Well Aunt Della," she said, rising slowly from the chair. "Unless you have long underwear and a pair of dungarees in one of those suitcases, we need to find you something appropriate to wear for sledding."

* * *

"So what do you make of Perry bringing Miss Street here for Christmas?"

Valerie dipped two fingers into a pot of cold cream and smeared it on her wind-blown cheeks before answering her husband. "I make of it that he likes her. A lot."

Bart snorted. "We already know that. He told us as much at Thanksgiving. Do you think the fooling around has gotten more foolish?"

"Bart!"

"Don't sit there and act like you didn't try to get Miss Street to talk about their relationship. You two were a lit-tle too serious when we came upstairs this afternoon. What did she say?"

"Nothing you would understand." She grabbed a handful of tissues and began wiping off the cold cream.

"Try me."

"Okay…Perry committed them to six holiday functions this year and she's been helping out her friend, who is a clothing designer, by modeling in shows in exchange for dresses."

"You already told me that," Bart reminded her impatiently. He pulled reading glasses off his nose and tossed them onto the bedside table before switching off the light.

"Perry doesn't know what she's been doing or why."

"Sound the alarm! A woman is keeping a secret from a man!"

Valerie twisted on the vanity stool and gave her husband a burning look. "This is serious, Bart. Perry is a celebrity. He appears regularly in the gossip columns, and so does Della. She knows that as Perry's secretary how she looks and what she wears reflects on him, either negatively or positively. And now that the rumors about them are partially true…"

"Partially?"

Valerie turned back to face the vanity mirror and carefully scrutinized her freshly scrubbed reflection. "They're involved, but they aren't lovers."

Bart sat forward, interest piqued. "Really? Did Miss Street tell you that? Did **_Perry_** tell you that?"

"Not in so many words. They both say it's none of my business."

"To which you responded that it most certainly is your business."

She ducked her head a bit sheepishly. "Yes, I'm afraid I did. I pulled rank as a mother."

Bart flung back the covers and patted the mattress. "Come to bed, Mother. Father is lonely."

Val ran a brush quickly through her hair, turned off the little glass table lamp, and crossed over to the bed.

"You haven't praised me on how well I've been behaving," Bart commented as his slender wife slipped beneath the covers and into his bearish embrace.

"You could call her by her first name."

"Jeez, Val, give me some credit. Perry and I haven't had a single argument and I haven't offended Miss Street in any way that I'm aware of."

"That's because you've avoided saying anything directly to her. You left her by herself tonight at the bottom of the hill while you went off and talked to Ed Baldwin so you wouldn't have to have a one-on-one conversation with her. You don't even like Ed Baldwin."

"Speaking of calling her by her first name, do you think it's a good idea for the boys to call her 'Aunt Della'?"

Valerie turned onto her side and pulled her husband's big, strong arm around her. He rested his cheek next to hers and sighed contentedly. "Yes, I do," she said after several reflective moments. "Even three teen-age boys can tell she's going to be around for a long time."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

By one o'clock the following day, two dozen eggs, two and-a-half loaves of bread, a gallon each of milk and coffee, two pounds of bacon, three bricks of cheese, and a pot of tomato soup had been consumed; a cord of wood chopped; the driveway and walkways shoveled and cleared of ice; several loads of laundry washed, folded and put away; floors mopped; bathrooms cleaned; furniture dusted and carpets vacuumed. Della was exhausted and when the front door closed behind Perry's nephews as they stormed out to meet friends for a snowball fight, leaving the adults sitting around the kitchen table making an enormous shopping list, she heaved an involuntary sigh. Everyone at the table burst into laughter.

"I told you you'd change your mind about how charming they are," Bart reminded her.

Della smiled sheepishly. It would do no good to deny the sigh had been one of relief. "I thought taking care of one Mason boy was challenging. How on earth do you manage _**three**_ day in and day out, Val?"

"Lots of alcohol," her husband declared quickly.

Valerie slapped his arm with the back of her hand. "Bart!"

Perry pulled the shopping list Della had taken down in shorthand toward him and made a big production of scanning the items on it. "I don't know Val, there is an alarming amount of liquor on this list."

Now Della laughed. "And how would you know? You couldn't recognize your own name written in shorthand." She retrieved the list and swiftly made a series of pothooks and curly-q's. "I'll have to try the alcohol approach."

Perry groaned. "There go all the profits from our last case."

Della raised one eyebrow and leveled her gaze at him. "For your information, Chief, our last case netted exactly nothing," she told him archly. But she couldn't keep the pride out of her voice.

Perry's dimples deepened as that irresistible grin flashed across is handsome face. "But it was a swell case, Della."

"Make sure you get plenty of oil," Bart said, jabbing a finger at Della. Valerie grabbed his finger and pulled it down, with a shake of her head. "I need a lot for deep frying."

"And great big onions for onion rings," Perry directed.

"Don't forget cole slaw from the deli," Valerie added.

"No, I'll make cole slaw." Della's pencil flew over the sheet of paper, detailing everything she would need.

"That takes care of Christmas Eve," Valerie announced. "Deep fried chicken, French fries, onion rings, and cole slaw."

"What about desert?" Perry asked with elaborate nonchalance. "The boys will need desert."

Della made several more pothooks, trying not to let her smile get too wide. "Yes, the _**boys**_ definitely will need desert. I'll handle that as well."

"I'll buy the beer," Perry announced.

Della jotted down more hieroglyphics. "Beer – real and root."

"Tonight is the dance, so that leaves three days' worth of breakfasts, two lunches, two suppers, and Christmas dinner before you go back to L.A." Valerie rose from the table and crossed to a cabinet next to the range. "The college gave Bart a ham this year. I'm out of cloves…we'll need pineapple and maraschino cherries. Mashed potatoes or baked?"

"Baked," Bart and Perry replied in unison.

"Then we'll need sour cream and chives…and Della, Brad specifically asked for Brussels sprouts. Would you be a dear and make them for Christmas dinner?"

"They're already on the list." Della's voice cracked on the word 'already' and she regretted that sigh from earlier, having been charmed by Perry's nephews all over again.

"I'll buy the wine," Perry offered.

Bart stood, stretched, and yawned. "How can you afford to buy all the liquor if your clients don't pay you?"

"I can afford it," Perry responded in a tight, clipped voice, 'because my secretary and financial manager books very lucrative lectures and appearances throughout the year, I'm on the board of several large corporations, and I contribute articles to top-flight publications for an obscene per-word rate. I also handle light-duty legal matters for a steady cash-flow, which allows me to take cases for people who need help but don't have the means to pay my current overly-inflated hourly rate."

The warm cheeriness of the past few hours grew decidedly chilly as the two big men stared at each other across the table, chins thrust forward aggressively.

"Wouldn't you make more money as a tax or corporate attorney and not have to rely on your secretary to book public appearances to make your overhead?"

"No, because I wouldn't be any good at that type of law. My specialty is criminal law. I like it, and pardon my ego, but nobody is better at it than me. Wouldn't you make more money managing a team at a Big 10 university or a _**professional**_ football team instead at a little school in the Big Sky conference?"

"I could, and maybe I will."

Bart moved a step forward and Della ducked out from between the two brothers for safety's sake, disappointed in Bart for his confrontational questions and surprised that Perry was playing what he would call his brother's 'silly game'.

"Stop it, you two," Valerie said firmly, stepping into the space vacated by Della. "Bart, stop being so rude, and Perry, stop taking Bart's bait. You know he only says those things to get your goat. I want this to be the last unpleasantness I hear from you two for the next three days."

Perry backed down first, pulling his chin in and relaxing his stance. Bart waited until his younger brother had symbolically surrendered out of respect for his sister-in-law, as he usually did, before standing at ease himself.

Valerie looked from her husband to her brother-in-law, and back again to her husband, gauging the level of tension between them. Satisfied that their skirmish was reasonably tamped down, she nodded toward Della, who followed her out of the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Perry found Della alone in the foyer, removing her fur coat from the closet. The women had left the men in the kitchen to gather coats and gloves and purses, and after several minutes of sulky silence from his brother, Perry decided he needed to make a few telephone calls.

"Where's Val?"

Della turned quickly and dropped her coat. Perry retrieved it, and held it out for her to slip into. He fastened the single button at her throat, and pulled the collar up around her slender neck.

"She muttered something I couldn't hear and ran up the stairs. I'm hoping she'll be down soon."

Perry's hands remained on her shoulders with a light, affectionate pressure. "Look at you, all sparkly-eyed and happy," he said almost wistfully.

"I'm having fun."

"Cooking, cleaning, making a shopping list, and witnessing a couple of grown men having a pissing match is fun? I need to get you out more."

"The whole morning was fun, from the moment I came downstairs, up to _**and**_ including the pissing match. I've never been part of a family." She lowered her eyes as heat travelled across her cheeks at the deeply personal admission she'd made.

"Oh Della," he almost moaned, pulling her close and rocking her gently. "Here I promised to make Bart behave, and I'm the one who had the temper tantrum. I wanted you to have a nice Christmas after things didn't work out for you."

"I am having a nice Christmas." She was painfully aware that she felt more comfortable being a part of his family than he did, and suspected that while spacious, the walls of his brother's home were beginning to contract. "What are you going to do for two or three hours while Val and I shop?"

"I'm going to do my best to avoid Bart," he said ruefully, with an impish grin. "I'll make a few calls and then maybe find something to read. Or maybe I'll track down the boys and hang out with them."

Della patted his chest. "I called Ruth this morning. There is nothing pressing that needs your attention. I gave her instructions to handle two insignificant matters, and she promises to call if anything important comes in."

"I should have known you would have already called. I'm going to call anyway. What good is having a service if you never call them?"

"Ah, but if you call too much, Paul might slap a usage tax on top of the service fee."

Perry grinned again. "He would, too, the money-grubbing s.o.b." He kissed her and it felt unusual. "Did you shrink?"

"I'm wearing a pair of Valerie's boots. Her feet are larger than mine, so I'm also wearing four pairs of Brett's socks."

Perry released Della suddenly and pulled his money clip from the pocket of his trousers. He peeled off several bills and held them out to her. "Here's for everything you'll need to make whatever it is you're making, and the booze." He unfurled three more bills. "And here is for a decent pair of boots."

"Chief," she protested, "I don't need snow boots. We live in California. I'll be fine wearing these. I was fine in them when we went sledding."

"You'll need them next year…" the import of his words struck him and he gave her a crooked smile with several dimples.

"Yes," she said softly, taking the money from him. "I will."

He took her in his arms again, pulling her up onto her toes against his chest. "Well, Aunt Della, hurry back."

The kiss was very similar to the kiss he'd given her the previous day, unhurried and exploratory, conquering yet needy, confident but filled with the unknown.

Valerie cleared her throat twice, stomped down five steps, snapped her fingers, and finally resorted to tapping Perry on his shoulder before the kissing couple realized she was there.

* * *

Della paid for the black wool felt Kaufman Snowbelle boots she now wore and while the clerk was boxing up and wrapping Valerie's too large borrowed boots, the two women ooh'd and aah'd over the sparkly holiday shows on display.

"I've been dying to say this, Della since we left the house," Valerie began, looking around for eavesdroppers. "You and Perry definitely _**kiss**_."

"I almost asked you what you thought about it," Della admitted, her eyes still sparkly with the happiness Perry had commented on earlier.

The clerk appeared at their elbow and handed Della a string-wrapped package. She bestowed on him her most dazzling smile, and besotted, he slowly backed away from the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, convinced he had just waited on a Hollywood starlet, and hoping that clerks in surrounding departments had seen him with her.

Valerie wrapped her hands around Della's arm and guided her from the shoe department, and that was when Della realized the older woman held a package of her own. "When did you buy something?"

Valerie laughed. "I can't believe you didn't notice I was gone. I wandered away while your newest admirer was insisting that you try on every pair of snow boots in the store. I almost couldn't find you again because the boxes were stacked so high! I think he just wanted to touch your legs as much as possible, or look up your skirt."

Della gave her a horrified look. "He was a sweet boy! He reminded me of BJ."

"Trust me, Della, BJ would take advantage of every opportunity to look up a girl's skirt. Keep your eye on him tonight. He'll be surrounded by a flock of pretty girls."

"Well of course he will. He's a Mason."

They were on the sidewalk now, and several cars honked at them as they walked the block to where the car was parked. Valerie couldn't blame the men for boldly showing their appreciation of Della's looks. In her fur coat, with bright golden sunshine bouncing off her chestnut curls and blown snow sparkling in the air around her, she looked like an angel and Valerie doubted Ogden Utah had ever been visited by such natural beauty and grace. "That speaks volumes."

Della mentally chastised herself for such a slip in front of Valerie, who was too sharp to let such a comment go by unchallenged. "You have noticed how attractive your husband and sons are?" she asked lightly, not willing to let the slip appear to be completely about Perry.

"Of course I have. They could all favor Quasi Moto and I would still think they were God's gift to the world. But I'm enough of a realist to know that Perry's attractiveness is in a class by itself. I'm afraid BJ takes after his uncle."

"Perry doesn't look up women's skirts." Della attempted a small laugh. Half the time he didn't notice an attractive woman was within twenty feet of him, for which she was grateful on a personal level, but the direct outcome of his indifference only made women determined to make him notice them. If and when he did notice, if he showed the care and compassion he was capable of, those women swooned. Della wasn't very fond of swooning women in the office.

"But he doesn't realize how attractive he is, which is something you figured out rather quickly, isn't it?"

"A lot of women come through the office door," Della replied, again in that light tone.

"And they all go right back out the door, Della. You're here with him, not any of those women."

Della laughed self-consciously. "I'm usually not…"

They had reached the car, and Valerie squeezed Della's arm. "I know you're not, dear. You're charming and intelligent, you stand up to him, and you make him laugh. No other woman he's ever…_dated_…has been quite like you. You won, Della. He's done looking. You don't have to worry about any woman that walks through the office door."

Right there on the street, Della gave Valerie a quick hug. "I've never been…that is, I thought I was…"

Valerie unlocked the passenger door and opened it. She understood the young woman perfectly. "Della, let me tell you what I teach my Sunday school class, and then we'll let this topic fade away. Life is a journey and not a destination. The heart must seek out matters of character, which are eternal, and not be swayed by matters of sensation, which pass away.

Della's eyes widened. "Lynn H. Hough. He's a favorite of mine. I've read everything he ever wrote."

Valerie placed her hand on Della's cheek. "You know Perry better than anyone. You care for him because of who he is, and not because he makes your heart all fluttery. There are those who live by the John Walters dictum of 'life is short, so enjoy it to the fullest', but I think that misses the whole point of being alive. If you aren't able to truly commit to something, to savor everything in your life to its fullest, then I don't believe life has been well-lived."

"In other words, smell the roses?"

Valerie smiled. If Perry messed up with this girl she would find it hard to speak to him ever again. "That's too deep for me, sweetie. Let's go shopping."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Note: A vague but serious accusation has been posted regarding this story. I just want to make it clear that every story I post follows a detailed arc of inter-connected themes and supporting characters conceived over three years ago and are written in the only style I know: my own. If any reader takes exception to the content or style of my writing, I will be more than happy to converse via private message._

_I realize calling attention to the review might be construed as legitimizing it somehow, and in no way whatsoever do I intend disrespect for the other author, who is exceptionally talented, but I know what and who my influences are and __**they**__ shall continue to guide my writing. _

_~D_

Della and Valerie spent nearly three glorious hours in the market, hunting down everything on the list, making substitutions when necessary, and adding 'frivolous' snack items because with so many large men in the house there simply couldn't be enough food. At the liquor store their 'alarming' amount of alcoholic beverages raised the bushy eyebrows of the proprietor and Della had felt it necessary to add bottles to the order one at a time to see exactly how far up his shiny hairless pate those eyebrows would climb. Valerie choked on her laughter the entire time, until she just had to get in on the game and added an expensive liqueur to the collection of bottles on the counter. _**That**_ sent the man's eyebrows nearly to the crown of his head.

The shopping trip had taken a bit longer than originally planned, due partially to their detour downtown for Della's boots and the revealing conversation on the streets of Ogden, and partially because they were having entirely too much fun together and in nearly every aisle at the market bumped into someone Valerie knew. The Christmas spirit ran high in both women and was contagious to everyone they came in contact with, making conversations bright and cheerful and a bit longer than necessary.

By the time they returned to the Mason home with bags and boxes, it was after five o'clock and every single male in the household met them in the driveway with panic evident on their faces that they would be late for the cocktail hour at the country club dance. Valerie and Della merely laughed gaily and left them to put away all the supplies while they dashed upstairs to 'get gorgeous in record time' as Bart commanded.

Perry knocked on Della's door at six-fifteen, and when she opened the door, he stood on the other side, holding a purse corsage consisting of a sprig of holly attached to a tiny silver-tipped pinecone with a green ribbon he bought from neighborhood girls who had peddled them door-to-door that afternoon. He whistled appreciatively, delighted in her choice of dress – the iridescent garnet silk pin-pleated stunner she had worn previously to a Law Review dinner – his very favorite dress she had paraded out this holiday season. Her jewelry was only gold garnet drop earrings and a matching cuff bracelet. The simplicity and perfect synchronicity of her accessories guaranteed you saw the beauty of the woman first, then the grand dress she was wearing, and eventually the added layers of surprising touches like the fact that her black velvet pumps sported shiny garnet-colored heels.

"It's even better the second time around," Perry complimented her as she accepted his hand and twirled slowly for his total appreciation, ultimately winding up in his arms.

"Your new tuxedo shirt is pleated the same as my dress," she pointed out, face raised, eyes sparkly, delectable lips half-parted in a tremulous smile. All throughout her hasty shower and speed of light toilette, Valerie's words returned over and over, making her dizzy. Della knew exactly what it was she liked about Perry, and what drew her to him as she had never been drawn to a man before. What she couldn't quite put her finger on yet was what it was about Bart that had captured the heart of a gentle, insightful woman like Val – aside from those _matters of sensation, _such as she was experiencing this very moment.

"I doubt that it has the same effect on me as it does on you, Miss Street."

"And what effect would that be, Mr. Mason?"

Perry's lips brushed hers teasingly, then hungrily, his hands roaming over the painstakingly sewn pleats on the bodice of her dress, all the while wondering how she could possibly breathe it fit so tightly. "That would be the effect," he said with gruff tenderness.

"You'd be surprised," she replied, pulling his head back down to hers and kissing him, open-mouthed, fingering the pleats of his shirt, loving its luxurious texture, but loving the strong contours of his chest beneath the fabric even more.

Perry gasped, grasped her upper arms and set her away from him. "Della," he croaked, afraid his body had given away another effect altogether.

She leaned against him once again. "Yessss?"

"We should leave now before we're just plain late and not merely fashionably late. The temperature dropped and it's snowing again. The roads might be bad."

Della placed her palms flat against his chest and ran them up the pleats to loop them around his neck. "Coward."

"Nothing of the sort. I'm trying to avoid –"

"Perry! Della! Chop chop." Bart's voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs.

"_**That**_," Perry finished with a grin. "If we're not down there in two minutes, he'll be in the car honking the horn. Two minutes isn't enough to explore certain effects."

Della handed the little velvet lined bolero jacket that matched her dress to Perry, and he held it out in front of him a bit farther than he might have before their kiss. "Saved by the bellow," Della mumbled, sliding her slim arms into the jacket.

Perry snickered. He liked Della's forwardness, up to a point. They were, after all, staying in a house crowded with people, with very little opportunity to properly explore the mutual effects pleats had on each of them. If not for that fact, the thing they talked about changing might very well have changed already. It would be a good change, the change good. Such a prospect both excited and scared him.

And Perry Mason didn't scare easily.

In the past, before he had any idea a woman as exquisite as Della existed, the women Perry bedded appealed to the baser aspects of his psyche. A few had stuck around long enough for him to form a true affection, and two he had actually loved, but usually the vast emptiness he felt coupling with a woman because she had large breasts or a nice smile or smelled good put him back on the path of looking for a woman who in the light of day was every bit as appealing as she was at closing time.

He thought he'd found that light-of-day woman in Laura Cavanaugh after a crushing experience with the first love in his life. But as the light shone on her more brightly day by day, he discovered she was not a woman who could make him happy, and he was not a man who could make a woman like her happy. It had taken nearly six months and countless incinceratingly brutal sexual encounters to convince both himself and Laura they weren't meant for one another and would be better off living in separate states.

Because one day, a beautiful young woman named Della walked through the door, and he realized that the light he'd been looking for shone from _**within**_ her. He needed that light to survive, it warmed him, provided sustenance, and kept him alive.

He hadn't meant to fall in love with Della, it had simply happened. Whenever he thought back on it he couldn't pinpoint a specific time, so he settled for 'at first sight', or 'the moment she walked through the door'. He simply had always loved her. Here was a woman who could make him happy, who _**did**_ make him happy. He wanted to make her happy, to be the man who _**could**_ make her happy.

That was where he tripped himself up. As his secretary she was invaluable. How to separate her value to him in that regard from how priceless she was to him as a person eluded him. She was proud and independent, young but more poised than most women twice her age, and she thrived in the whirling dervish that was his law practice. She saw things in him only his mother had ever seen in him, and he believed what she said about him because _**she**_ believed it. To her he was a good man who did good things, and it was important that he didn't disappoint her. Ever.

She had hinted at a destination the previous night, but he knew that making love to her would in no way be a destination – it would only reveal a new path and a new journey, and one he longed to be on some day.

The subject of his thoughts was currently stroking the soft hairs at the back of his neck, which quickly stood at attention. He again set her away from him, chest heaving and forehead sheened with sweat, lest another part of his anatomy stand at attention, which was a smart move as it turned out.

"Hey, Uncle Perry," Brett called from the doorway. "Dad's going to start honking the horn any minute. He says to shake a leg."

Perry grinned at Della and actually shook his leg.

* * *

Cocktails and hors d'oeuvres were plentiful and it took very little time for the party to be in full swing in the overly decorated ballroom of the country club.

Perry shouldn't have been surprised by how many people Della already knew by name or how she usually wound up the center of attention at functions like this, but her natural friendliness and sincere interest in people still amazed him. He was content to stand next to her, holding her purse while she hugged people he discovered she had met only hours ago like long-lost family members and letting everyone know with his stance and piercing gaze that the gorgeous woman in the pleated dress was _**his**_. In L.A. they agreed to be discreet – almost covert – about the fact they enjoyed each other's company socially as well as being employer and employee, but here in Ogden, at this insular country club, surrounded by his brother's neighbors, he'd be damned if he would be introduced as her boss. Tonight they were Perry and Della, period. Let the assumptions commence.

The boys had secured a large round table near the middle of the ballroom, far enough away from both the food and the dance floor to be able to converse comfortably, but not so far as to impede a steady flow of food and drink. Brett was more than happy to act as 'runner', replenishing plates for several surrounding tables of friends and neighbors whenever bidden. Perry set Della's purse down on the linen tablecloth and touched her shoulder gently as yet another new friend approached her. She gave him a dazzling smile and introduced him to the parents of Valerie's star piano pupil, flawlessly pronouncing their difficult last name and looking around for their children, whose names she also knew. As more and more people appeared to be introduced and Brett's runs to the hors d'oeuvre table became more frequent and frantic, Perry wondered if they would ever be able to get a cocktail and sit down so he could rest his arm along the back of her chair, letting fingers lightly brush against bare skin, or hold her hand beneath the tablecloth.

It was Della who finally spurred Perry to excuse himself and head for the bar by clearing her throat several discreet times. He squeezed her shoulder and she flashed him that smile, the one that could instantly cast a spell over the strongest of men. He knew it well, and had been under its spell for a year-and-a-half.

The bar was crowded, and it took more than ten minutes for Perry to walk away with two glasses of bourbon for himself, and two Scotch-and-waters for Della. By the looks of things, they had some catching up to do to keep pace with everyone else. He weaved and wound his way back toward the table, not paying much attention to his surroundings, his mind on how it wasn't awful being at this party with total strangers because tonight Della was not merely his secretary, and certainly not something as banal as his _girlfriend_ – she was simply his.

As he neared the table he finally took note of the room and was surprised that the crowd gathered around Della had dissipated and she was now seated sedately next to a petite woman with blonde hair piled high, and who looked up at him with blue eyes that leapt directly out of his past.

"Hello Perry," the woman said, standing to her full height of slightly over five feet in heels. "It's good to see you again."

Perry felt his jaw sag, as he shot a look at Bart, who refused to meet his gaze. Seated next to her husband, Valerie seethed silently. He set the drinks down in front of a subdued, curious Della, and took the woman's proffered hand in both of his. "Hello, Ellen."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Ellen Izworski Payne smiled and twisted her neck to include everyone at the table in her explanation. "Well, when Bart said he could only meet with us during winter break and the term didn't end until Friday, we decided to take a last-minute Christmas skiing vacation at Snowbasin. My secretary found a lovely little chalet to rent and we're just snug as bugs."

Bart raised his drink glass to his mouth. "You were lucky to find someplace to stay on such short notice."

"Weren't we?" Ellen agreed a trifle too brightly, fully aware of the tension between Bart and Perry, as well as Perry's buttoned-up demeanor toward her.

Burt Payne, her husband, leaned forward and poured the dregs of one drink into a fresh glass. "That secretary of hers could find a needle in a haystack. She's kind of a looker, too." He all but drained the overflowing drink in one gulp. "Not quite the looker your secretary is though, Perry my boy. You done good."

Perry's knuckles went white clutching his drink but still didn't say a word and Ellen placed her hand on her husband's arm. "Burt…"

"Mrs. Payne was just about to tell us why she and her husband are in Ogden when you returned, Chief," Della spoke up, covering the other woman's embarrassment and Perry's discourteousness. Completely in the dark, having been introduced to Ellen and Burt Payne by Bart as 'Perry's secretary', she had no idea why the woman's presence made Valerie so angry, silenced Perry, and made Bart look like someone was holding a flame to his feet.

"Oh, call me Ellen. No need to be formal at a party." Ellen frowned slightly. "I am rather embarrassed my dear, but I don't think I caught your name."

Della hesitated for a few seconds, giving Perry the opportunity to be gallant and introduce her, which he didn't pick up on it. "It's Della. Della Street."

"Well I for one am damn glad to meet you, _Della_." Burt Payne lit a cigarette and waved it in the air. "Your face is the friendliest one at the table. You keep a spot – no, _**two**_ spots – on your dance card open for me and we'll show this bunch of sticks-in-the-mud how to have fun."

"You've finished your drink, Burt dear," Ellen said tightly through a forced smile. "Why don't you go to the bar and get another?"

"Surrrre," Burt slurred amiably, getting to his feet unsteadily. "I'll get drinks for _**everyone **_so you can discuss business. Oh look, they're setting up a steamship round."

Valerie found her tongue as Burt Payne staggered away from the table. "Business? What kind of business?"

Ellen pulled a cigarette out of her evening bag. Perry flicked his lighter, and the blonde woman accepted the light, resting her hand on his for a split-second too long, which everyone, including three teenage boys, noticed. "I'm here to offer your husband a coaching job."

"Dad!" BJ exploded. "You're going to coach the Wildcats! You're going to work for Pile Driver Payne!"

Ellen laughed, delighted with the young man's excitement. "Technically he'll be working for me, but my husband is the team manager. You're too young to have watched Burt play. How did you know who he was?"

"Dad has a scrapbook with loads of pictures," BJ replied. "I recognized him right away." He shook his head in amazement. "Gee, Pile Driver Payne."

"You knew about this?" Valerie demanded, turning in her seat to face her husband, body rigid with highly controlled anger. "You invited them to the party so you could accept a _**job**_?"

"Val – honey, I haven't accepted anything. I've been talking on the phone with Ellen but it was difficult to find any privacy at home or in my office, so when she offered to come here…"

"Of all the selfish, self-centered things you have done in eighteen years of marriage, Bartholomew Lloyd Mason, this takes the cake. How could you leave me out of this decision? How could you even be thinking about looking for another job without telling me?"

"Honey –"

"Don't 'honey' me, Bart. This is the lowest thing you've ever done, and at Christmas time no less!"

"Val, really, Bart hasn't given me a yes or no answer," Ellen stuck up for him hastily, smoothing her hands over the tablecloth, possibly trying to smooth out the other woman's anger, "but the job is his if he wants it. It's a good job for significantly more money than what the college pays. I wanted to offer it to him in person, and when he said Perry would be here, well, I thought it would be nice if we all had a little reunion of sorts – have dinner, go skiing..."

"Now why on earth would you think that would be nice, Ellen? Just because you're a wealthy woman now and can give my husband the opportunity of a lifetime doesn't make the past go away. Why are you doing this for _**Bart**_? Don't you have anything to offer _**Perry**_?"

"That's enough," Perry spoke for the first time since greeting Ellen and Burt Payne, the volume and depth of his voice turning more than a few heads at surrounding tables.

"It wouldn't be fair to make the boys change schools," Val continued the argument. "Did you even think about that? And what about my piano students? And the church…the orchestra…the team…our friends…Bart, we have roots here." Her voice cracked and she dashed away a tear with the back of her hand.

Everyone grew somber at Valerie's plaintive words. Brett inched his chair closer to his mother and took her hand, his eyes showing evidence of tears as well.

Burt Payne chose that moment to burst through the crowd and bump into the table, spilling vodka on Bart's tuxedo. "Whoops! Pardon me, folks." He squinted at their serious faces. "Cripes, who died?"

* * *

Shortly following Burt's ignominious return, there was a short invocation delivered by a lay-minister who held a glass of wine aloft during the entire prayer, and there could be heard clinking of glasses above the chorus of 'amen'.

"What does _alfalfa_ have to do with God?" Burt demanded.

"_**Alpha**_, Burt. As in the Alpha and the Omega. Revelations?" Valerie tried to clear his confused look.

"Revelations? I've got a revelation for you. Did you know my wife's kid brother wants to get married but his frigid girlfriend's family nixed it because they say he's a bastard?" He sat tall with a ridiculous grin on his face, what Paul Drake would categorize as a 'shit-eating grin'. "That's right. Thirty years and three kids later, my in-laws aren't married in the eyes of the Catholic Church. Ain't that a pisser?"

"Burt, be quiet," Ellen shushed him.

"But it's a pisser, Ellen. It so damn funny…I always knew your brothers were bastards, and now I have proof."

"Burt, please, there are young ears at the table."

"What is this he's talking about, Ellen?" Perry stood and almost absently pulled Della's chair out for her as everyone rose to get in line for dinner. Della trailed behind him as Perry took Ellen's elbow.

"Oh, just some family drama. It's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing to me."

Ellen swept lashes thickly coated with mascara down, then up almost coquettishly. Cursed with short, blonde, nearly invisible eyelashes, it was necessary to apply several coats so she wouldn't look like a newborn baby. "Really, Perry, it's a family matter."

The buffet line was crowded and slow-moving. Perry passed right through it with muttered apologies, and guided Ellen out of the ballroom, leaving his entire family and Della staring after him with very different expressions on their faces.

"Perry," Ellen protested half-heartedly, breathlessly, "where are we going?"

"We're going to find a place where we can talk."

"Perry! Slow down. I'm going to trip."

Perry had been hurrying them along a corridor, trying every door to find one that was unlocked. The third door opened and he pulled Ellen into the room and kicked the door shut behind him.

She turned into his embrace naturally in the darkness and tilted her head to capture his searching lips with hers. He lifted her petite frame off the ground and held her pressed against him for a long time, his heart beating a rhythm he hadn't felt in a long time – a rhythm that beat only for the first woman he had ever loved, and the only woman who had ever broken his heart.

* * *

"I call George Sutton my father, but everyone knows he isn't. And my brothers are really my half-brothers."

Ellen shifted in Perry's arms and he tightened his embrace. His surprise at seeing Ellen was profound, had literally shaken him to his core, otherwise he couldn't be here now, holding her in his arms when he should have been holding Della, the woman he loved.

"Stevie wants to marry Glenda Nowicki of the very wealthy, very Catholic Nowicki's. Her uncle and a brother are priests and a cousin is a nun. This is a serious Catholic family, Perry. Stevie should have known better than to start anything with Glenda, but you know young love..." She cleared her throat when he didn't respond. "When word got back to them that my mother was excommunicated and can't take the Eucharist…they swept Glenda off to some desert island to 'get over' Stevie."

"Ellen, I can't do anything about canon law. There are very clear processes to follow in the Catholic Church. The best I can do is contact Stefan for you and see what, if anything, he can do."

Ellen heaved a dejected sigh. "I doubt there's anything he can do. My mother submitted a statement to the dioceses tribunal council thirty years ago. It is still 'under consideration'."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I hadn't thought of Stefan. I'd like to talk to him."

"All right, I'll arrange it."

"And could you – do you work with a detective? A good one you can trust?"

"Yes. I work with the best detective in Los Angeles. His name is Paul Drake. I trust him implicitly."

Ellen squirmed out of Perry's arms and propelled herself across the room. Her blonde hair gleamed in the dim light of the lone lamp Perry had switched on. She wrung her hands, and paced back and forth in front of him. "I haven't seen or heard from my father in over twenty-five years. He didn't show up for _Dziadzia's_ funeral or for _Babcia's_ two years ago."

"Did your grandparents leave him anything in their wills?"

Ellen nodded. "Not much. A few thousand dollars. It's being held in trust at the bank. Everything else was left to me, including the Wildcats."

"Did the bank or the estate lawyers try to find your father?"

Again she nodded. "They did. But I don't think they tried very hard."

"Do you want me to hire Paul Drake to find your father?"

Ellen stopped pacing and hurried toward the divan where Perry was still seated. She dropped back down next to him and took his hand in hers. "I need to know if he's dead or alive. Stevie's life depends on it."

"His life?" Perry's eyebrow rose inquiringly.

Ellen dropped his hand and began wringing her own again. "When I inherited all that money, I set up trusts for my brothers. Each one received one hundred thousand dollars on their twenty-first birthdays. Stevie has vowed to use his money to find my father…and kill him."

Perry drew a trembling, distraught Ellen back into his arms and let her sob quietly. "I'm s-s-so worried about h-him, Perry. He says he'll k-k-kill my father, and then Mom and Dad can be m-married in the Church. Once Mom and Dad have a marriage honored by the Church, Stevie and Glenda can get married. He's just a kid. But he loves her, and would never ask her to give up her family or the Church for him."

Perry held Ellen's face between his hands and looked into her cool blue eyes, not the warm, laughing hazel he should be looking into. Her tongue flicked plump coral-colored lips and he couldn't stop himself. His lips lowered to hers.

* * *

The plate of food Della had filled for him was stone cold, the fat in the juice of the roast beef congealed and jellied, the green beans almandine shriveled, and the mashed potatoes stiff, but Perry forced every scrap down his throat.

"I would have gotten you another plate," Della drawled as he pushed the empty plate away from him.

He lit a cigarette and puffed on it with an underlying nervousness. "And have Bart accuse me of wasting food? Not on your life. This dinner was seven dollars a plate. I'll give him twenty toward next year's party. The neighborhood party used to actually be held at someone's house. Bart and Val hosted it four years ago. They served pigs-in-a-blanket and shit-on-a-shingle. I don't know why or how this hootenanny started." Laura had attended with him four years ago and hadn't eaten a thing. He shook his head and swore he heard it rattle. Maybe he had a screw loose. It would explain his atrocious behavior tonight, because he had no other explanation. "Would you like an after-dinner drink? Kahlua and cream, maybe?"

"Maybe later. I'm full. The food was good when it was hot. Especially the beef. Totally worth the seven dollars." She wondered when he might get around to either suggesting they dance or explaining where he had been with Ellen. For forty-five minutes.

"Della." He turned in his chair to face her directly. "About Ellen -"

"HEY DELLA!" Burt Payne called across the ballroom. "THEY'RE PLAYING OUR SONG."

Perry flared a half-smile, half-grimace. "You two have a song?" He listened for a moment, incredulous. "And it's '_Everything I Do is Wrong'_?"

Della stood and put her hand to her hair, fluffing out the curls. "It's more than I have with you, Mr. Mason." She flipped an eyebrow at him, and, if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes he wouldn't have believed it, _**flounced**_ away.

Burt Payne really couldn't dance. He could barely walk, and standing was pretty much out as well. So Della did her best to keep him upright, much to the amusement of the teenagers ringing the dance floor, too self-conscious to dance, until she saw Perry headed toward her with that I'm-going-to-break-you-on-the-witness-stand look. The song ended and the band swung into a fortuitous waltz just as Perry reached her. Her hips were already swaying as he took her in his arms and moved them away from Ellen Payne's husband. Burt hardly noticed she was gone as he staggered around the dance floor to his own music.

"What are you doing?" Perry asked tightly.

"You're leading, but I believe I'm waltzing."

"All right, you're angry with me. I suppose I deserve it. But Ellen is an old friend, and she's in a jam."

"And I'm only your secretary who happens to be spending Christmas with your family. I didn't realize that meant I had to entertain your _old friend's_ soused husband as well as your conniving brother."

"_**Conniving**_ brother?"

"Conniving. Bart set this whole thing up with Ellen Payne. He's been talking with her for weeks about coaching the Wildcats and Val had no idea about it. Merry Christmas to her."

"Where are Bart and Val?"

"Val took her plate and sat with friends. Bart and Ellen went to find someplace to go over the contract." The hand Perry wasn't holding moved to his collar. Her nails tickled his neck as she stuck her two fingers between the material and his skin and moved her thumb over the stiff collar slowly. "Did you find some mistletoe?"

"Mistletoe? I don't want to have anything to do with mistletoe after Harvey's party."

"There was mistletoe at the Bar Association gala," she reminded him, an odd expression in her low voice.

"That was nice," he admitted, shifting her closer and petting the pleats on her dress. Now would be a good time for that 'special' effect to make an appearance. "We don't need mistletoe for an excuse to kiss, do we?"

"You have lipstick on your collar."

"Do I? You should be more careful, Miss Street." His cold meal sat like a stone in his gut.

"It's not my shade."

Perry didn't know if it was a blessing or not, but at the very moment Della made her damning discovery, Burt Payne crashed to the wooden dance floor face first and lay there, unmoving.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Happy New Year!_

_Thank you for reading and for saying such nice things about this story. It does mean an awful lot that something I'm passionate about is appreciated._

_I apologize for not updating in as timely a manner as I normally would, and I hope to finish prior to Epiphany. Actually, I normally would have finished the story before posting, but the urge to complete this old plot bunny only struck me on December 21__st __because another story I'm writing is horribly stalled, and I thought I would have more time to work on it. As originally outlined it painted P and D into a corner I didn't necessarily want them to be in, so revisions are painstaking as the story needs to flow from 'The Mistletoe Incident' but not be too different from 'More Than Anything'._

_A reader requested that the comfort in which Valerie and Bart live be clarified. I would be more than happy to. When I created my PM universe, I had a lot of time on my hands and every character has a rather detailed back-story. Perry's family backstory is that his father Lloyd, an insurance salesman, died in an accident, and through double indemnity left his family with enough benefits to keep them out of the poorhouse as long as his mother worked (as a teacher). I also researched the salaries of college football coaches when deciding what Bart's profession would be, and was surprised to find out that coaches in the Big Sky conference currently make six-figure incomes. Extrapolating that backward to the mid-1950's meant that Bart's salary was well above average for the time. Even back then society placed athletics above academia._

_I told you I had a lot of time on my hands a few years ago…_

_Does everyone recognize Ellen and Burt Payne?_

_Go Spartans!_

_~D_

"I want it noted for the record that I wasn't anywhere near Burt Payne when he hit the floor, and there is not a sprig of mistletoe to be seen," Perry muttered to Della.

Della tittered as Perry and Jim, the neighborhood wine-drinking lay minister, hoisted Burt up by his limp arms and dragged him off the dance floor amid shocked murmuring from the crowd of partiers.

Valerie, who had been dancing nearby with BJ, sidled up to Della. "We should find Ellen."

Della nodded. "I'm glad she wasn't here to see this."

"She's probably seen worse being married to him for as long as she has."

The two women followed Perry and Jim out of the ballroom. In the entryway of the country club, the two men tossed the unconscious form of Burt Payne onto a wooden bench across from the coat-check room, silently shook hands, and Jim headed back into the ballroom. Perry stood over Burt, a fearsome expression on his face, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Where's Ellen?" Perry asked in one of those half-barks Della heard often when he felt there was no time to be wasted.

"She and Burt went to find a room to discuss her offer to coach the Wildcats," Valerie offered, eyes wide, stunned by her brother-in-law's tone of voice. "I don't know where they would be."

Perry turned on his heel and headed down the main corridor, directly to the third door on the left. He opened it without knocking, entered, and within seconds emerged supporting a mortified, white-faced Ellen with an arm around her shoulder. She silently handed Perry her evening bag and he headed toward the coat-check to claim her coat, and then stood looking down at her passed out husband in humiliated disgust. "Is he breathing?"

Della wanted to ask how Perry knew exactly what door to open to find Ellen and Bart, but instead replied to Ellen's question. "I think I saw his chest rise and fall a couple of times." _Sorry to disappoint,_ she contemplated adding, but refrained. No sense in letting wit get her in bad with someone else.

"He's got a bump on his head and maybe a broken nose. His face broke his fall," Valerie added.

"Probably unconscious before he hit the floor," Bart said to no one in particular. "The best hospital is on the other end of town. Maybe we should call an ambulance. He could be seriously hurt."

Ellen clamped her lips in a grim, angry line. "No. If he goes to the hospital, he goes on his own in the morning. I'll take him back to the chalet and let him sleep it off."

Valerie looked dubiously at Burt's crumpled body. "Do you really think that's the smart thing to do?"

"It might not be the smart thing to do," Ellen snapped, "but it's what I'm going to do." She turned to Perry, who had walked up wearing his topcoat and holding a beautiful golden Russian sable coat over his arm. "Would you drive us back to our chalet, Perry?"

Valerie nudged Bart but he ignored her. "Bart will go with you. I'll get the boys and we'll follow you. You'll need help…"

"No sense in everyone's evening being ruined," Bart jumped in quickly. "Perry will be able to handle Burt by himself. He'll probably regain consciousness soon. Let's just throw him in the back of the station wagon right now."

Perry glanced at Della over Ellen's shiny gold head as he helped her into the sable coat, but neither he nor his expression said anything to her.

Della had never seen such a gorgeous coat. As much as she loved her own fur coat, Ellen's sable coat made it look like well-worn fur on a child's stuffed animal. Of course, she couldn't compare them directly because Perry had not claimed her coat when he'd claimed his. Obviously he had decided she wasn't going with him.

No sense in ruining her evening.

* * *

Burt Payne was semi-conscious, mumbling and moaning, by the time Perry pulled Ellen's husband out of Valerie's Buick Roadmaster station wagon and hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He waded through two inches of freshly fallen snow toward the large rented A-frame chalet making a path for Ellen to follow. At the door, standing on the deck that spanned the front of the chalet while Ellen latch-keyed open the door, Burt began to struggle against Perry's restraining hold, cursing a blue streak. Perry didn't even care that he banged Burt's head against the door jamb trying to enter the chalet.

Ellen switched on a light and pointed silently toward the open stairway that led to a loft bedroom, and Perry frowned, counting the number of stairs. Hitching Burt around on his shoulders and telling the drunken man he'd toss him headfirst into a snow bank and leave him there if he didn't stop struggling, Perry managed to climb to the loft without incident.

"Just throw him on the bed," Ellen called up after Perry. "Don't even take his shoes off. He's accustomed to sleeping fully clothed."

Perry tucked his shoulder and unceremoniously dropped Burt Payne onto the bed. "Hey! Wassa big idea?" Burt tried to sit up but couldn't coordinate any body parts, and resorted to rolling toward the edge of the bed.

"Stay on the bed," Perry ordered ominously. "If you fall again, I'm leaving you on the floor."

"Gotta use the can," Burt announced, sliding off the bed. He managed to get to his feet by grabbing the duvet cover and pulling himself up hand-over-hand and staggered into the bathroom.

Perry made an impatient exclamation and waited, tapping his foot, outside the bathroom.

"Could use a little help in here," Burt called from behind the closed door.

"Not a chance," Perry returned flatly. "You're on your own."

Burt flung open the door and stood weaving in the doorway, pants and cummerbund around his ankles. He shuffled back to the bed and fell onto it face-first, only half on the mattress. "Ow," he said.

"Do you think any bones are broken? Burt?"

Burt Payne had passed out again. This time he snored loudly and wetly, bruised and swollen face smashed into a pillow instead of a less yielding parquet dance floor.

Perry made another exclamation and lifted the man's legs onto the bed literally by the seat of his tuxedo trousers. He then descended the stairs slowly, taking in the details of the large, very nicely appointed chalet. Ellen's secretary was to be commended for tracking down such luxurious accommodations on short notice right before Christmas. Of course, Ellen was probably paying through the nose per night, but she could afford to.

Ellen emerged from beneath the stairs as he reached the bottom step, and he noticed then that there was a kitchen along one wall and a door leading to what he thought must be a second bedroom at the back of the chalet.

"Nice place, isn't it?" Ellen handed him a crystal tumbler of bourbon poured over three ice cubes and continued past him into the seating area at the front of the great room. She slipped off her evening pumps and settled onto the couch, feet pulled up and tucked beneath her. "Why don't you build a fire?"

Perry remained standing on the bottom step, watching her every move. Not tall, short-waisted, packed with womanly curves, Ellen hadn't changed much, except for possibly the weariness etched around her pale blue eyes, and tight little half-moon lines at the corners of her mouth. He glanced at the fireplace. "No firewood."

Ellen laughed. "It's gas. There are matches on the hearth."

Perry sipped his drink. Everything about Ellen was wrong. Wrong color eyes, wrong color hair, wrong body type. Her voice didn't have those soft, low tones that made him shiver from head to toe. Her hands, holding a tumbler of vodka, were square and stubby, the nails long and pointed to compensate for the truncated length of the fingers. Not terribly attractive hands. Not like Della's lovely, strong, slender hands that could fly over a keyboard with lightning quickness or soothe him at the end of a long day by making slow, gentle circles at his throbbing temples. "I should get back to the party."

Ellen's bottom lip quivered and she flicked her tongue over it. "Please, Perry," she said in a quavery voice. "I've had about all I can take."

Perry felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach, and although every cell in his body screamed at him to walk out the door, to go back to the party, back to Della and all that was real, he crossed to the stone fireplace and knelt before it. He depressed the pilot switch, struck a long wooden fireplace match, and recoiled when the flame burst from the burner before adjusting the flames to a moderate height.

He didn't hear Ellen get up from the couch, but sensed she had. He turned, and she was on her knees next to him, pushing his topcoat off his shoulders and down his arms, taking with it his tuxedo jacket. She leaned into him, snaking her arms around his middle and unfastening his cummerbund.

"I'm divorcing Burt. I can't live another day like this."

Her pointed nails dug into his back as his mouth found the hollow at the base of her throat, the place where she was most susceptible, the place that if he remembered correctly…she moaned, a raw keening siren that sparked embers he thought had been completely doused years ago.

He slid his hands up the column of her neck and into golden gossamer hair, so delicate he thought the strands would disintegrate under his touch. Her moans were urgent now, her body pressing with wanton desperation against his. "Kiss me," she pleaded. "Please…please."

When his lips took hers, when her mouth parted beneath his searching tongue, he knew the woman in his arms shouldn't be there, the flood of memories false, the sensations a betrayal. His fingers found the zipper of her dress, and he wasn't sure if it was he or Ellen who moaned as he slowly lowered it.

* * *

Just how long did it take to dump a drunk, Valerie fumed.

She never should have allowed Perry to drive off in her station wagon with Burt Payne sprawled in the back. The entire family should have made apologies for the mishap of their guest and left the party together. If she had insisted, if she had overruled her husband, they would all be home now, together, and everything would be all right.

Damn Bart for inviting Ellen and Burt anyway. The party was a _neighborhood_ celebration, not a free-for-all open to business associates and business deals. Bringing visiting relatives was one thing, he had no business inviting outsiders, even if he thought they were about to become his _professional_ family.

And that was another thing! How could Bart have not talked to her about what Ellen Payne was offering? It was her husband's dream to coach professional ball, and because it was his, it was hers for him as well, but to make the decision all on his own was unforgivable, doubly unforgivable for the awkward position it put Perry in.

Bart was an excellent coach with a winning record over seven years at Weber. Ellen's Wildcats would be lucky to have him, but Valerie was just suspicious enough of the woman's motives to wonder about the timing of her pursuit to make Bart head coach. Would she really use her team and Bart to get at Perry? Did she need Perry to sort out her troubles, or for something altogether more personal? She had a pattern of seeking him out when her life choices blew up in her face, and Perry had a pattern of letting her back into his life while he cleaned up the mess. Was she trying a new approach this time by making Perry beholden to her for handing his brother's dream to him on a platter?

Valerie watched her husband as he conversed with a group of neighborhood friends several feet away. Even dressed in formalwear they shoved hands in pockets and jangled change, reaching out occasionally to jab each other on the shoulder in some silly male bonding ritual to emphasize their unity. She scanned the crowd and noted that the only place she saw men mingling with women was on the dance floor. It made her sad. It made her mad.

Bart, all six-feet four, two-hundred-and-twenty pounds of him, was a mass of emotionalism. He hid it well behind his husband and Dad persona from the outside world, but he couldn't hide it from his wife. He wasn't afraid to cry in front of Valerie or get choked up when dealing with his sons, and had actually cried like a baby himself when each had been born. He supported whatever Valerie wanted to do, because she was extremely talented and it wasn't fair to keep those talents caged for his enjoyment alone. Bart spent his days surrounded by misogynistic machismo in the world of athletics (Valerie had recently audited a psychology course at the university and was enjoying slinging the hip, new lingo around) and came home to a house overflowing with testosterone as well, but it was his wife's femininity that made him feel more like a man than anything his male counterparts could possibly impart.

Valerie knew Bart loved her, their sons, and their life together and that despite occasional lapses in judgment, he only wanted the best for them. He had assumed the role of the man of the house and father to his seven-year old brother when he was only fourteen, and as his mother relied more and more on him to help with his little brother when she went back to work, the decisions he made took on increased importance. His example, his guidance, would shape a human being, and that was not something to trifle with.

Perry had rejected his brother's paternal instinct, which only made Bart more determined to insinuate his wisdom on his younger brother. And now, as adults, Bart didn't see how his brother could be capable of making the best decisions for himself since he had eschewed any fatherly influence since the age of seven. Bart would be involved in his son's lives forever, would always be their loving father, would always be there to dispense sage advice as they matured into what he knew would be good, solid men, due mostly to his incredible wife. The boys would make mistakes and bad decisions, he would counsel them through those tough times, and they would be grateful for his presence in their lives. When Perry made decisions Bart thought were wrong, or unworthy of the successful man he had become, he felt helpless and shut out.

Valerie was still deep in thought, eyes locked on her husband, when Patrick Loucks, the very nice eldest son of the Mason's backyard fence neighbor, escorted Della back to the table after monopolizing her on the dance floor for several songs. The band was taking a break now, and Patrick – six months older than Della, fresh-faced and earnest, just beginning a career as an accountant in a thriving CPA firm – promised to seek her out for the band's last set of the evening.

"Well hello Twinkle Toes," Valerie greeted her. It was probably in poor taste to joke, since the evening had been less than merry. She, for one, needed a bit of frivolity before confronting Bart for what promised to be one doozy of a discussion.

Della wrinkled her nose, picked up her watered-down Kahlua and cream, and tilted it toward Val, unoffended. "More like Sore Toes," Della complained. She slipped off her beautiful velvet pumps, which she knew were hopelessly marred by Patrick's lack of dancing skill. "I think the little piggy that cried wee, wee, wee all the way home might be broken."

Valerie smiled sadly. She knew Della had been looking forward to tonight, to being with Perry away from the fish bowl that was their life in L.A., and having to cope with the stares and inquiries about where he had disappeared to tested her poise. "Would you like to cry wee, wee, wee all the way home, Della?"

"I would," Della admitted quietly. "But I won't. I would, however, like to go back to _**your**_ home before the band starts up again. Would you mind if I called a cab or hitched a ride with a neighbor?"

Valerie stood up quickly, latching onto the excuse she had been searching for to leave. "Put your shoes back on. We're going home now."

'Now' turned out to be twenty minutes later as all of Della's new acquaintances felt it necessary to hug her good-bye, including Patrick, whose crestfallen, puppy dog expression at her departure was touching and sweet. After a slight scuffle at the coat check due to the fact that Perry had the claim ticket for Della's coat, the Mason family and their guest squeezed into Bart's Ford Meteor Customline in uncomfortable silence.

* * *

Ellen ran her tongue over her full bottom lip and adjusted the belt of the terrycloth robe more snugly around her waist. "That's all I know about my family history." She sat back against the sofa cushion and regarded him with a bit of defiance in her ice blue eyes.

"That should be enough for Paul to begin with." Perry slumped in the chair, despondence in his deeper blue eyes. He played with the scrap of silk that had once been his neatly tied bow tie, threading it through his long fingers and wondered how he had come to be here with Ellen, with her drunk skunk of a husband passed out upstairs, pieces of his tuxedo scattered around the room, his former lover sitting three feet from him, nude beneath her robe.

He had come to be here because he was a fool. He was still here because he was something he had never thought of himself as.

A coward.

Fidelity had always been a loose concept for Perry Mason. He found solace with other women during rough periods in his relationships with Ellen, as well as with Laura, and he knew for damn certain that Laura had um, _entertained _other men during those same periods.

He had wanted fidelity to be with Della exactly how Merriam-Webster defined it: faithfulness.

But what was he being faithful to?

They weren't lovers. They weren't anything, really. Except that they were everything.

He shook his head, and Ellen shifted nervously on the couch, knowing that while he was staring at her, he didn't see her at all. He was looking through her at something else. At someone else. That girl at the dance, perhaps? His secretary? Della. Now that she thought about it, now that the pleasure of seeing him again had subsided and her mind was more focused, what was a secretary doing spending the Christmas holiday with her employer's family? But then again, why would Bart invite her to the party last night if he didn't suspect there might be the possibility of round three for her and Perry? Bart had to know what a disaster her marriage was, and what an even bigger disaster it had been to make Burt manager of the Wildcats. Casey Banks must have talked about the yelling and the fighting, the drinking and gambling and womanizing. Bart had to have thought Perry could help her and known that Perry was the only person she wanted to help her.

Ellen never had been comfortable with him when he was like this, all dark and brooding, the complexity of his thoughts immune to her charms. "Are you available, Perry?"

He blinked and shook his head again. "I'll have to check with Della. I don't know my schedule."

"I meant…personally."

He sat forward and she knew he finally saw her. And his eyes were empty. "I'll have to check with Della."

"Well." She sucked in a defeated breath. "Here I thought it was Burt falling out of bed that interfered with the inevitable."

Perry downed the remainder of his drink, stood, and moved around the room gathering his cummerbund, tuxedo jacket and topcoat. He shoved his arms in both coats and stuffed the cummerbund into the pocket of the topcoat. "It was. Fortunately."

Ellen flinched and sipped from her own drink to mask the reaction. When she lowered the glass, blackened trails of mascara marred her attractive face.

"We're not good together, Ellen," Perry said not unkindly. "We bring things out in each other that aren't flattering. I didn't like myself when we were together. I like myself a lot better now."

"Oh," Ellen sobbed, curled pitifully around her drink.

Perry walked to the door and paused, hand on the knob. "I'll have Harvey Sayers call you about a divorce."

Once outside, Perry lit a cigarette and inhaled so deeply nearly the entire length became instant glowing ash.

* * *

It took Perry a long time to make it from the driveway to the front door of his brother's stately Colonial house, smoking one more cigarette to delay facing the person he knew was waiting for him.

Her face was scrubbed free of make-up, seven cherished freckles revealed across the bridge of her nose, curls pulled back from her face and secured with a tortoiseshell headband. She said nothing, not even with her eyebrows. Her eyes, liquid gold in the dim light cast by the lone lamp she had been reading by in the living room, zeroed in on part of his wardrobe that hung out of his topcoat pocket.

Della circled around him and climbed the stairs. "Please turn out the light," she said quietly, her back to him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Della sat with chin resting on crossed hands, staring out the window at Perry as he smoked a cigarette. Standing at the edge of the deck, his back to her, one foot planted on the railing, ensnared in what she could only surmise was a tangle of tortured thoughts from the tension and unrest written in his posture, battling the urge to itch whatever it was about last night and/or this morning that scratched at him by thrusting his hands deep in his pockets and smoking incessantly.

Valerie Mason settled next to Della on the couch and assumed a very similar position to peer out at her brother-in-law. "Why don't you go out there and talk to him?"

Della started, as if she hadn't been aware of Valerie sitting down. "Because he's not ready to talk. He hasn't started pacing." As if on cue, Perry tossed his cigarette into a pile of snow, gave a series of nods, and commenced pacing from one corner of the wooden deck to another.

Valerie was impressed with Della's knowledge of her employer's habits. But then again, she expected nothing less from Perry's savvy, observant secretary. "I take it he does this a lot?"

"It's his way of sorting through evidence, puzzling circumstances, and…difficult thoughts. Pacing clears his mind so he can concentrate, and more times than I can count has led to solutions for what seemed like impossible situations."

"Are you in the middle of a case right now?"

Della's reply, although only one syllable, carried with it a multitude of emotions. "No." Valerie would have made a terrific psychologist. Her questions were perfectly timed and exquisitely crafted to elicit honest, informative answers.

That one word and everything it evoked broke Valerie's heart. Disappointment was too meek a word for what she felt toward her brother-in-law at this moment. It was times like this, when the usually sensible men in her life showed themselves to be downright dolts that made her wonder if Lyla Mason was still resting peacefully. Their mother had not raised her sons to treat the fairer sex the way Bart and Perry had treated the women in their lives last night. Valerie had already taken her husband to task for the duplicitous part he'd played in the events of the previous evening, and Bart knew without a doubt it would be a long time before the shameful things he'd done – or more specifically _**hadn't**_ done – would be forgiven.

Perry was another matter altogether. His refusal to discuss Ellen's suspiciously coincidental appearance at the dance, his trip to her rented chalet, or his four-hour absence this morning put a pall on what heretofore had been a very nice family visit. But it was his complete lack of sensitivity toward Della that made Valerie sick at heart.

For there _was_ Della, hollow-eyed and quiet, stoic but fragile, unconvincingly insisting that her employer's recent behavior was nothing unusual, surrounded by people she had known less than a hundred hours trying their darndest not to make her feel any worse because the one person she did know well was an imbecile.

"I wish there was something I could say…" Valerie paused to gather her thoughts. The last thing she wanted was to upset the poor girl more, or heaven forbid, insult her, especially since Bart was doing such a good job of the latter. "Perry's a jerk."

Della laughed, and it actually sounded genuine. "I call it 'damsel in distress syndrome'. I told you that once a woman gets his attention, he goes all in. I'm afraid I may have been the catalyst for it. Not long after I began working for him he came to my rescue a few times. He even called me a damsel in distress."

"Oh no, sweetie, women with problems have always found their way to Perry. He's so very good at fixing things." _Except for his own faults._ "But this is different, isn't it? The way he's reacting to seeing Ellen again."

Della's shoulders rose in a tiny shrug. "No damsel he's ever…been involved with…has been in distress before. I have nothing to compare his reaction to."

"If it helps at all, I made sure Bart is in a lot of distress."

Della laid her cheek on her hands and regarded Valerie Mason with a smile and misty eyes. "It wasn't entirely Bart's fault. He didn't know Perry would be bringing me."

"He knew in plenty of time to head Ellen off at the pass. And he knew Ellen was married. He deliberately pitted Perry's old girlfriend against his –"

"Secretary," Della finished firmly as one tear escaped and slid slowly down her cheek. "I told myself I wasn't going to c-cry. I have no hold on him. We've been winging it, enjoying the work and the play but we're having trouble successfully separating, or maybe it's _combining_, the two parts of our lives, I don't know which. I can't expect him to turn his back on an old…friend. If there is some legal threat surrounding the status of her parent's marriage, I should be able to expect him to confide in his secretary, but we might have negated that option when we chose to explore…other possibilities."

Valerie hated that Della refused to cry aside from that one heartbreaking tear, refused to hold Perry accountable for his abominable behavior, and most of all hated she felt it necessary to give that halting little speech. "One chance meeting can't wipe out the past eighteen months, Della. Perry has very strong feelings for you, otherwise he would have followed Laura to Denver and you wouldn't both be here right now."

"Tell me about Burt Payne." Della didn't really want to hear about Burt Payne, but she wanted to hear about Ellen Payne less. And about Laura Cavanaugh even less than Ellen Payne.

"Ellen met both Burt and Perry in college. Burt was Big Man on Campus and she threw Perry over for him. He promised to marry her when he went pro, but he got a taste of the limelight and after a couple years of stringing her along he told her he didn't think marriage would fit into his new lifestyle. Ellen was devastated, and she turned to Perry, who had just opened his own practice in Los Angeles after a bad experience in Sacramento. Then her grandfather died and she inherited a lot of money as well as the family business."

"A _football team_ was the family business?"

Valerie nodded. "When she inherited the team, and of course all that money, Burt had a change of heart regarding Ellen. He had discovered gambling and drinking, and even though he was a star, no sponsor would pick him up. He was unreliable and temperamental, and teams wouldn't keep him for more than a couple seasons. Ellen started secretly seeing him again while she was still dating Perry, and married him six months later. Perry took it hard, since it was the second time she'd thrown him over for Burt Payne. I don't think he would have married her but there was something about her…I'm sorry, Della. I shouldn't have said that."

Della gave a wan little smile. "It helps to have a bit of background in order to understand what's going on now."

"Perry's mother worried so much about him during that time, trying to build his practice and dealing with Ellen's histrionics. He wasn't happy with or without Ellen, and whenever she was having difficulties with Burt she would call him. He saw her a few times after her marriage, and I wouldn't be surprised…well, I'll keep that to myself."

"Burt doesn't play football anymore?"

"Oh good heavens no. He drank himself out of football. He couldn't make a class D high school squad in his current condition. No, he 'manages' the Wildcats, which means he does as little as possible, spends Ellen's money, and drinks."

"How do you know so much about Burt and Ellen?"

"The football world is a small one, much like the legal community I'll bet. Burt's offensive coach Casey Banks is a former Wildcat." She grinned. "And a current Wildcat." She pointed to a purple pillow emblazoned with a snarling Weber University Wildcat lying on the floor. "I keep telling the boys these are to stay in the basement."

"Is the offer to coach for the professional Wildcats legitimate?"

Valerie heaved a sigh. "It appears to be. Ellen insists she wants Bart to take over for the current coach, who is retiring next month. Coaching a team like the Wildcats is a dream Bart's had for a long time. I know why he's been talking with Ellen, but I don't know why he kept it a secret. Maybe he's going through one of those new mid-life crisis things that are all the rage now."

Della smiled through her tears. "They aren't new – men have been having them forever. They're just more willing to talk about them nowadays."

"Well, whatever is going on in that man's head is going to be talked about whether he's willing or not. I'm sorry Bart ruined the dance for you, and I'm sorry Perry is being a jerk."

Della sat up suddenly. "He's stopped pacing."

* * *

The cigarette hissed as it hit the snow and Perry nodded his head once, twice, then a third emphatic time before launching himself into pacing back and forth across the deck.

There was no doubt.

In the light of day he was still a complete fool.

He was in love with Della. He knew that like he knew his name.

Della had become his entire life. She made him happy.

Ellen had been out of his life for a long time. She had made him miserable not once, but twice.

So why had he hidden in that dark room at the country club with her, stealing kisses and listening to sad stories about her parent's non-existent civil marriage? Why had he given up holding Della in his arms and dancing the night away with her to drive Ellen and her drunken lout of a husband to their rented chalet when he passed out cold? And why dear Lord, why had he gone back to that chalet this morning?

He felt unclean.

Della was his shining light-of-day woman, a woman he could love forever, the woman he _**would**_ love forever. In the light of day Ellen was the same as always – surrounded by problems and looking for someone else to clean them up for her. How could he have thought what he felt for Ellen was real and worth the risk of losing Della?

Sweet, loyal, gentle yet spirited Della, often too smart and witty for her own good; the kindest person he had ever met. He belonged to her, and he had no other wish in the world than to belong to her. For a time last night, she had been his, and he had been hers, and his heart was full.

Today his heart was empty.

A major stumbling block to advancing his relationship with Della was the one he threw in front of them himself in an act of confounding sabotage. He worried about her youth, and how she had thought it necessary to lie about her age on her employment application – to make herself three years _older_ than she really was. It was the only false thing he knew about her, and the lack of vanity it represented charmed him to his toes. How she must have agonized over that bit of deception. And how furious would she be if she knew her Aunt Mae had let him in on her niece's little ruse?

Furthermore, wasn't it ironic that the more youthful of them had actually proven to be the most mature?

He had pursued her and now that she was right _**there,**_ dancing at his fingertips, closer than she had ever been, offering herself to him, he couldn't take her. His destiny, his destination, his very life was Della, there was no doubt.

But alas, _**his**_ maturity level was in question now.

He needed to put time and space between last night and the rest of his life before accepting the wondrous gifts Della offered. The lines in the sand had been erased and had to be re-drawn.

He would tell her about last night and where he went this morning, lay his disgrace out for her to absorb and possibly forgive. If she couldn't forgive or at least understand…he wouldn't know what he would do. She had forgiven him all sorts of transgressions – _office_ transgressions that often had to be pointed out as a matter-of-fact to him by Della herself, or more humiliatingly by Paul Drake. The type of forgiveness he would ask for now went deeper than a misspoken word or a careless, absentminded gesture, because there was absolutely no reason for what he had done.

He came to a halt at the railing and inhaled a huge, heavy breath of stingingly cold air. His brother's back yard was large, fenced in, closed off from the rest of the neighborhood. The fence had been Bart's idea and not Valerie's, a symbolic way of protecting his family, and it was a grand fence, the grandest in the neighborhood. Perry hated it and had sided with Val in protesting Bart's plans to build it. Val had eventually capitulated, realizing that while the fence was large and expensive and more intrusive than private, it would give her peace of mind knowing where her boys were all the time. Also there were other battlegrounds that required her attention. So Bart had built the fence.

Looking at the fence now, Perry realized that for a strong woman with very definite opinions, Valerie lost a lot of battles. The number of children they had, the types of cars they drove, the style of house they lived in, the city in which they lived – all of it was what Bart wanted, even though Valerie's talents contributed significantly to their income. He wondered where Bart and Valerie would be and what their life would be like if Valerie had won more battles.

He had told Della that she steered their course, but it was now obvious that he had been the worst kind of back seat driver the entire time, insisting that the route she was taking was the best, all the while making sneaky adjustments to that route. It had taken him fifteen months to understand this. It had probably taken Della fifteen minutes to understand, and yet she hadn't given him one sideways glance, hadn't made a single snide remark in reply to his insistence that he very clearly saw those lines _**she**_ had drawn in the sand in regard to their relatioship.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered into the cold clear air.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigarette, cupping his hands to light it. He pulled in a lungful of smoke and threw back his head to release it toward the cold blue winter sky. The light touch of fingers removing the cigarette from his own didn't really surprise him.

"Spare a puff, Sailor?" Della lifted the cigarette to her lips and inhaled daintily before handing it back to him and wrapping her arms around herself.

Perry threw the cigarette into a snowbank already littered with too many discarded butts. "What are you doing out here without your coat and boots?" He quickly unbuttoned his topcoat and drew her to him, wrapping her in a warm woolen cocoon, her back against his front, his long arms completely surrounding her as she shivered.

"There wasn't time for coat and boots. I had to get out here while you still might be willing to talk." She snuggled deeper into his coat, into the soft cashmere of his sweater, allowing his embrace to accept most of her slight weight. "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Willing to talk?"

"Yes."

Della let quite a few seconds go by before prompting him again. "So go ahead."

She wore flat shoes today – flat shoes and a pair of capri-style slacks that ended precisely at her delicate ankle and showed off her astonishing legs and curvy backside. The angora sweater he recognized from a weekend outing to a museum the previous year: pale blue, tight, secured over her perfect bosom with wooden toggle buttons. When he'd finally returned from his cowardly drive to nowhere, Della had been in the kitchen with Valerie, trussed up in a ridiculously frilly apron baking cookies and the never-before-seen sight of her in slacks delivered a physical blow. He'd mumbled a greeting of sorts in response to her inquiring hazel gaze and immediately headed for the solitude of the deck.

He propped his chin on top of her head. She smelled like cookies, like home, like love.

"I wandered off the path."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Della was motionless in Perry's arms. She had expected this, but it still hurt. He hadn't exactly tried to hide his state of dishabille last night, destroying other, deeper expectations since she had a fairly active imagination. "How far?"

"Farther than I should have, but not as far as I could have."

Did men actually think obfuscating made confessions easier? "Why are you telling me this?"

_Because I love you._

He couldn't tell her that now. It would diminish the emotion, belittle the depth of his feelings for her, and the first time he said it would be tainted by the circumstances and the guilt he felt. _I snuck around passionately kissing another woman last night, but I love you and not her so it's all right_. "Because I almost did something incredibly stupid and I need to confess."

_**Almost**_ _did something_? The image of his cummerbund hanging out of his pocket, tie missing, three buttons on his shirt unbuttoned wavered before her eyes. She squeezed them shut. "Is Ellen all right?"

Perry was thunderstruck by the question. "Ellen isn't the one who matters here."

"Isn't she in some kind of trouble? Valerie says Ellen accepted Bart's invitation to come here now because of you, because she needs help. She could have come after the holidays and finalized a contract with Bart." _**Almost**_ _did something_?

"So you've been talking to Valerie." _Well of course she has, numbskull_._ She couldn't talk to __**you**__._

"She gave me some background on Ellen…and Burt."

"This isn't what I had planned for our Christmas together, Della. I wanted you to have a nice family holiday when your own family Christmas plans didn't work out. I thought it would be Bart who screwed things up, not me."

"There have been some lovely moments," she said soft and low. "Why?"

"I don't know." It took great effort to say that. "There isn't a reason and there isn't an excuse. I'm sorry. That's all I can say."

"Maybe spending Christmas together with your family wasn't such a good idea, despite how much has happened between us the past few weeks." Della shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Thank you for not giving me a string of excuses or rationalizations."

_Maybe what I almost did was a direct result of how much has happened between us the past few weeks, baby_. Possibly the worst excuse ever was his best excuse and he had the good sense not to offer it to her after just having been praised. "I've never done anything like this before." The confessing, not the infraction necessitating said confession. He really was a cad, a cur, a lout, and what she would call a 'stinker'.

"Well, it's not like…" she abruptly cut off the rationalization that would have rolled off her tongue so glibly. Oh to hell with it. "It's not like we're a couple or…or anything."

Perry snuggled her closer and rocked from side to side. "Della, when was the last time you had a date?"

"We went to –"

He shook his head, his chin sliding back and forth over her silky curls in time to his rocking. "No, not anything you did with me. When was the last time a man, other than me, asked you out and you accepted?"

A little pucker appeared between her eyes. "About four months ago."

"Well, I haven't been out with any woman but you since Laura left. If that's not being a couple, I don't know what is. You're my girl, Della. You said so yourself. I had no reason to sneak around kissing another woman."

She sagged in his arms and he molded his height and breadth protectively around her. She had expected and dreaded a confession about Ellen, but she hadn't expected the second extraordinarily thrilling confession, to be sent to the lowest low and then lifted right back up. "So where do we go from here, for the sake of clarity? Do you need to be with Ellen?" _Sneak around kissing another woman?_ She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or both she was so ridiculously relieved.

"I need to be with you, Della. I want you by my side at work and everywhere else. You're so much more than I thought I could ever have, and there was no reason for me to go looking for something else."

She hesitated to smother a giddy giggle, knowing the hesitation would take a couple years off his life. "I need to be with you, too, Chief."

He smiled, lopsided and dimpled. "Are you ever going to call me by my name?"

If he could see her eyes he would be devastated by the tears that glistened there despite her barely contained mirth. "Maybe someday."

He bent and placed his head next to hers, on her shoulder. "I want to find that path to someday with you, baby."

"I think it's about time we cut out all this journey and destination hooey and come right out and say what we mean." _Dangerously tossed gauntlet, there, Della_.

"All right. Ellen and I were barely twenty when we met in college. Her life had been rough despite all the money her grandparents had. She was smart and pretty, different from other girls I'd known, and for a while we had fun together. A man feels responsible for the first…" He couldn't finish. There wasn't a word or a phrase that could convey what Ellen was to him better than no words at all.

His posture tensed again, silently begging her to understand, and Della cursed Valerie for not warning her - or for not figuring it out herself. "Oh. I see."

Perry spun Della in his arms. She pulled her arms up to clutch his sweater and laid her head on his chest as he rearranged his coat. "I'm not perfect, Della. I have a past. I'm sorry it keeps getting in the way. I promise it won't happen again."

"Can you keep that promise and still help Ellen with her problems?"

Perry's lips explored her hairline tenderly, where the curls had tightened from the heat of her afternoon spent in the kitchen. She was wearing it longer recently, not as long as it had been when she first came to work for him, but not as short as it had been cut following her frightening encounter with a fired employee's vindictive mother, just a nice moderate length he could run his fingers through and tousle becomingly during necking sessions. "I'm not going to help Ellen with her problems."

"Oh yes you are." She lifted her chin defiantly.

"As a test of my resolve?"

"No, as testament to mine. You feel badly about her current circumstances and she needs help. You help people. I'm not letting you off the hook on this."

"You don't even know what all of her problems are."

"I know she's contemplating divorcing her husband."

"You scare the hell out of me when you do that. Are you a good witch, or a bad witch? Should I throw water on you?"

"All the signs are there for anyone to see."

"That and Val told you their marriage has always been bad. I'll refer her to Harvey. He'll get her out of the marriage relatively unscathed and collect a big, fat fee to finance _**his**_ next divorce."

She dug him in the ribs with her elbow. "Hush! That's bad luck. He and Pamela aren't even married yet."

Perry groaned. "Oh Lord. His wedding is New Year's Eve."

"Nervous, Best Man?"

"No, I've been Best Man at all of his weddings. I've got the role down pat. It's just one more thing…will you still be attending the wedding with me?" He had planned for New Year's Eve to be a very special night. Thanksgiving, Christmas, then a...culmination on New Year's Eve. Plans would have to be changed.

"That's a subject for later, Mr. Mason. Right now you're going to tell your secretary about our new client's problems. But tell me inside, because I can't feel my feet."

"Della! Why didn't you say something sooner?" Perry slid one arm behind her knees and swung her up into his arms effortlessly. She looped her arms around his neck and turned her face toward him. He met her eyes and saw disappointment edged with hurt and…_laughter_?... but knew that she had just given him the best gift of his life.

* * *

"The marriage between Ellen's parents, Katarzyna Ostrowski and Janek Izworski, was arranged in Poland before each family emigrated to the United States. They were both three when the arrangement was made."

Della sat back and regarded Perry over the brim of her mug. They had re-entered the house to find a big fire blazing in the fireplace, two covered mugs of hot tea sitting on the raised hearth, a neatly folded afghan and a pair of socks from Brett's dwindling supply waiting for them. And suspiciously, not one family member within two rooms of them. "I didn't think that sort of thing still happened in the 20th century."

Perry massaged Della's small foot with hands that were nearly twice their size. "It's more common than you might think, especially in countries with entrenched hierarchies or caste systems like Asia and the Middle East." He grabbed a sock from the hearth and slipped it over her foot, but not before kissing her instep. She moaned. "Oh good, you can feel it."

"Do the other foot," she commanded, thrusting it at him. "But Poland is a long way from Asia and the Middle East."

He placed her foot in his lap and began to rub feeling back into the cold, pale flesh. "Congratulations, you get an 'A' in geography, Miss Street. Ellen doesn't know why the marriage was arranged, only that both families had been quite wealthy and each had only one child. I'll have Paul check into the possibility the families were rulers of Poland …"

"Katarzyna was a Polish princess!"

"And you get another 'A'. Though not born of actual nobility, daughters of the ruling class in Poland were indeed called princesses. Her mother was only five when she left Poland, so she doesn't remember much. Katarzyna thinks there were grand houses and parties, but she's not sure. No photographs made it out of Poland. And her parents rarely spoke of their homeland once they arrived in the United States. They quickly learned English and amassed a new fortune."

"And yet they forced their daughter into a marriage arranged by the traditions of their homeland."

Perry kissed the instep of Della's foot and slipped the other sock over it. "All better?"

She nodded, removing her foot from his hands, and pulling up both knees to wrap her arms around. "How did a football team become the family business of Polish immigrants?"

"Her grandfather bought it for pennies on the dollar from a desperate businessman after the crash. He probably kept the man from committing suicide."

"How did he have so much money after the crash?"

"His fortune was in gold. He bought a gold mine that turned out to be…well, a gold mine. He also didn't believe in banks. Ellen says her mother remembers finding thousands and thousands of dollars stuffed into suitcases in the attic."

"So why are Katarzyna and Janek not legally married?"

Perry frowned. "In the eyes of the Catholic Church, Katarzyna and Janek _**are**_ married."

"Huh?"

"The problem lies in the fact that Katarzyna's husband's name is George Sutton."

"Ohhh. She divorced Janek and remarried?"

Perry nodded, slurped his tea and smacked his lips loudly. "Sugar in the tea. Val knows better than to put sugar in tea," he said disgustedly. "Katarzyna divorced Janek when Ellen was about two. She married George Sutton two years later. They have three sons together, George Jr., Carl, and Steven."

"It's a spearmint gumdrop in the tea making it sweet. Didn't you notice the flavor? Why did Katarzyna divorce Janek?"

"Janek," Perry began, putting down his mug, "was a drunk."

"_Oofta_." Della's shoulders sagged. "And Ellen chose a drunk for a husband."

"_Oofta_? That isn't Polish."

"It's Norwegian. Norway is as close as I could get to Poland. I guess I get an 'F' in Foreign Languages."

Perry stared at her, eyes hooded and dark with longing. "You have no idea how much you please me, Della Katherine Street. I am the biggest idiot in the world..." He held his hand out to her, palm up, almost beseeching.

Instead of taking his hand, Della set her mug down, and with a stunningly lithe maneuver crawled into his lap. He rubbed her back with long, slow strokes while her fingers drew patterns in navy blue cashmere over his heart. "Val called you a jerk."

Perry laughed out loud, a great booming guffaw. "And I suppose you agreed with her?"

"I didn't _**dis**_agree with her."

"What are you drawing on my chest?"

"I'm writing my name in shorthand over your heart so you won't forget it."

_Holy Mother of all that is good and pure_. "Della..."

"Should I stop?"

"No. I don't want you to stop. I don't want any of it to stop." His heart raced beneath her fingertips.

She dipped her chin and smiled almost shyly. "That's my line."

"Is it still true?"

"Yes." So quiet he could barely hear, was a tiny 'but' echoing beyond her response.

"What do we do about this, Della?"

"Maybe we should retrace our steps."

"How far?" He held his breath.

She took his hand in hers and drew symbols over her own heart with his index finger. "Before Thanksgiving?"

His breath came out in a relieved rush. "You're writing my name in shorthand over your heart."

"Yes."

"See? I can learn."

"I hope so," she whispered, her head still lowered, because this time she couldn't hide the smile.

Perry tilted her chin with his other index finger. "You're going to trust me again, Della. I'm going to look in your eyes one day and they won't look back at me full of disappointment, and then…"

"Yoo-hoo! Hul-lo. _Excuse moi_. Pardon me. It's Brad. You know - your favorite nephew? I have my eyes covered so I won't be blinded by anything I see. I drew the short straw to tell you that Dad says it's time to start making dinner. Th-th-th-that's all folks. As you were."

Perry looked into Della's eyes again, knowing he would find only truth in their hazel depths. It might have been wishful thinking, but was there less disappointment and more laughter lingering there? "A comedian at not quite fifteen. Well Aunt Della, looks like it's time for you to teach me how to make cole slaw."

* * *

Bart was a fair cook, but the one thing he could do like no one else was fry chicken. Over the years he had perfected a breading recipe and deep frying process that he kept closely guarded. Not even his wife was allowed in the kitchen when he mixed up the breading.

Preparation for dinner included Perry dutifully grating cabbage and trying to keep his eyes off of Della's posterior so that the tips of his fingers wouldn't become part of the slaw; BJ chopping onion and green pepper while Della put together her own secret recipe slaw dressing; Bart trimming the fryer pieces; Brad thinly slicing the biggest onion in the history of the world; Brett peeling potatoes; and Valerie setting their chores to music with Christmas carols played on the piano in the living room. Della finished the dressing and put the bowl into the refrigerator before joining Valerie because making such a manly dinner as deep fried chicken was better left to the men, as she was constantly reminded.

The older woman had a large carol book open on the music rack of a beautiful mahogany French provincial Baldwin baby grand piano and her long, thin fingers were expertly and with a light touch playing 'The First Noel' when Della slid onto the bench beside her.

"This is exquisite," Della said in awe, running her hand over the gleaming reddish wood. "1904?"

Valerie nodded. "It belonged to my grandmother. Bart had it internally restored for my thirtieth birthday. The restorer did a wonderful job. The sound is mellow and full, and there are no vibrations from the soundboard after ten years of hard playing."

Della automatically reached out and turned the page of the carol book when Valerie came to the end of 'The First Noel'. "Val, are you happy with Bart?"

Val glanced sideways at Della curiously as she segued into 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'. "Not particularly at the moment, but in general and overall, yes, I'm very happy with Bart. There's something about Bart you have to understand Della. Everything he does is out of protectiveness for the people he loves. He wants the best for his family, and that's what drives him to do infuriating things sometimes. His heart is in the right place but sometimes he gets an idea in his head that a stick of dynamite can't blast away, and he isn't as quick to trust as I'd like him to be, but he's a good man."

"Is Ellen Payne the best thing for Perry? Is Laura Cavanaugh?"

Valerie's fingers crashed down discordantly on the keys and she turned to face Della. "Perry was not happy with both Ellen and Laura. I've known him for twenty years and I've never seen him as happy as he is with you. Which is why I can't understand…" she snapped her head forward and flawlessly picked up playing where she had left off.

"That makes two of us," Della said in a rueful little voice. She stared at the tiny black notes printed in the carol book, her fingers reflexively tapping on the deck of the baby grand.

"You read music," Valerie observed.

Della's fingers immediately stilled. "A-a little," she stammered, a pink flush creeping into her cheeks.

"I'll listen, Della. I'll listen and I promise not to say anything to Bart or Perry."

"You can't keep secrets from Bart. He's probably guessed already, given Perry's behavior last night and this morning."

Valerie's fingers stopped moving, curved over the ivory keys, hovering. "I could strangle that man."

"Bart or Perry?"

"Yes," Valerie answered cryptically. "What did Perry say?"

Della shrugged one shoulder. "He's sorry. It won't happen again. He wants to be with me."

"And you? Do you want to be with him?" Valerie thought she was angry with her husband for secretly applying for a job with his brother's first love and then throwing the woman in Perry's lap, but that anger couldn't compare to the inferno of rage she felt toward her brother-in-law.

"More than anything."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to be the best damn secretary I know how to be while he helps his _old friend_ with her problems. And then we'll see if we can find a personal relationship between murder trials."

"Oh Della," Valerie said tearfully.

"He's doing it because I insisted," Della went on. "Maybe I should be more upset about this, stamp around and cause a scene, but I can't give up on him, Val. I can't give up on what I feel for him. It's so good when we're working together."

"But can you ever trust him after this?"

"Yes, I think I can. He promised it wouldn't happen again."

"Well, you're more forgiving than I could be if Bart slept with his old girlfriend."

"Val!"

Valerie jumped at the volume of Della's exclamation and looked around furtively. "Shhh! One of them will come out here to check on us."

"Whatever gave you that crazy idea?"

Valerie blinked. "He didn't? Then what was all the drama of his pacing and your tears and the talk on the deck…"

Della got up from the piano bench and collapsed into an overstuffed, oversized chair. "Did you know that I'm the only woman Perry has…for want of a better word, _dated_…since Laura Cavanaugh moved to Denver?"

"No," Valerie replied in surprise at the incredible feat of fortitude carried out by her brother-in-law.

"Neither did I," Della admitted. "_**I **_only stopped dating four months ago. How can I turn my back on that, considering…" she suddenly colored bright pink all the way to the roots of her hair.

Valerie wasn't a prude. She knew the world was changing around her, and having three sons quickly approaching adulthood had made her very forthright indeed. "Considering you two aren't lovers."

Della gulped. "Uh huh. That man, that confident, accomplished, brilliant, sweet, _**wonderful**_ man, mentally beat himself to a pulp because he _**kissed**_ another woman. But it's not just the fact that he kissed her that's eating him up. He's mad because he lost control, and he doesn't like not being in control. He's been losing control a lot lately."

A slow smile bloomed on Valerie's face. "Are you some sort of witch? What spell have you cast over my brother-in-law?"

"You're the second person to accuse me of being a witch today," Della smirked.

Valerie stared at Della in frank admiration. "If you two can't work it out together, I want you to know the Mason family will adopt you and disown Perry."

Della sat straight in the chair. "If kissing another woman upset him this much, I'm pretty sure there is a personal relationship waiting for us. It's going to take a little bit longer to find it than either of us thought it would. He doesn't know why this happened with Ellen. And when Perry says 'I don't know' the whole world stops until he does know. We're going to back up a bit and start over."

"Dear, take it from a woman who has three kids. Kissing leads to other things that are a lot more fun. And dangerous."

Della shook her head, refusing to let Valerie's slightly ribald, well-intentioned cautionary observation test _**her**_ resolve. "Perry is a man of his word, even when it comes to promises he makes to himself. You know, I told Perry being here with him could change everything. And it did." She rose gracefully from the chair without explaining her enigmatic words. "I'm going to get cleaned up for dinner."

Valerie resumed playing and watched Della leave the room. How could Bart still think this poised, intelligent girl wasn't right for Perry? It had become a trite put-down to tell men they didn't deserve the women in their lives, but in this instance, Valerie didn't think there was a man alive who deserved a woman as special as Della Street. Including sweet, wonderful Perry Mason.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

In the tradition of the Bartholomew L. Mason family, Christmas Eve dinner of deep fried chicken, French fries, onion rings, and cole slaw was served on the coffee table in the family room. Pushed into the center of the room before the fireplace, positioned so that everyone could gather around it comfortably, protected by several layers of newspaper and paper plates, Della thought it was the most beautifully set table she had ever seen. The only thing she thought might be missing was taper candles, but Valerie cautioned her that candles weren't a good idea around teen age boys and newspaper. So Della gathered up every single candle and holder she could find and placed them in corners of the room firelight didn't reach.

Perry found her standing next to the fireplace, hand on hip, finger on chin, contemplating her handiwork, tears in her eyes. If he hadn't already fallen in love with her at first sight, he would have at this sight of her, slender and fragile, brought to tears by a newspaper-covered shop class coffee table bathed in firelight.

"Wait until you taste the food. Then you'll really have something to cry about."

Della sniffled and smiled, upset with herself for letting Perry catch her crying. "That bad?"

"No, that good."

She turned toward him, to the accompanying whisper of rustling silk and tulle. "I should go dress the cabbage."

"There's plenty of time. I like what you did in here." _Please don't begin to avoid me, baby._

Her eyes traveled around the cozy room. "It looks like home," she whispered brokenly.

"Your family's home?"

She pilfered a paper napkin from a pile on the table and blew her nose. "Oh Lord no." She laughed shakily. "My family's home is…not this nice."

He really didn't think she would say much, but he had to try. "Tell me what happened, Della. Tell me why you came back to L.A. earlier than planned."

"Thomas Wolfe said you can't go home again, and boy, was he right."

"I'm sorry your trip wasn't what you expected." _And I'm sorry I made you unhappy_.

Della gave the most ladylike snort Perry had ever heard, but a snort nonetheless and he smiled. "But it _**was**_ everything I expected. My hair was wrong, my clothes were wrong, my – my morals were wrong…I'm sorry, Chief, I shouldn't have spouted off like that."

Perry took her hand and kissed it. She had told him virtually nothing, and yet she considered it 'spouting off'. "I like your hair. And you know what I think about that outfit you're wearing. As for your morals…" his eyes bored into hers until she simply had to avert them or she would melt into a puddle. "I think your morals are above reproach."

"That's why I came back early," she said quietly, not letting go of his hand, thanking him for his words by not pulling away from him.

"I'm sorry – "

"Stop apologizing, Chief. I'm not going to pretend it didn't hurt, because it did, but I'm also not going to dwell on it. You said it wouldn't happen again, and I'm willing to take your word for it, now that we have a better understanding of what is going on."

He turned her to face him full on and took her other hand in his. "But not without some form of punishment?"

She hesitated, searching for the right words, because the right words were so important right now. They had managed to keep the situation on a serious but not tragic plain and that's where it had to remain if they were to continue on their journey. Cripes. She really had to stop with the theology. "It's not punishment. It's caution. A penalty flag." _Great. Substitute football vernacular for theology._

Impressed with the football metaphor but properly chastised, Perry couldn't contain a sigh. "So we're back to caution."

"We still have to work together, Chief."

He leaned across the small space between them and touched his lips to her forehead. "Bless you, Della, for being so loyal."

"Work is what got us this far." _And work may just get us to that destination…cut it out, Della!_

"I meant it, Della. I'm never going to disappoint you again."

"I know you meant it."

His hands released hers to frame her face, her beautiful, beautiful face. He wanted to see that face the rest of his life, yearned to be the man who would witness first-hand how much more beautiful she would become as the years added character and depth to its unmarred canvas. There was a lot to be said about the freshness of youth, and many men pursued it relentlessly, seeking younger and younger women in misguided attempts to decelerate their own aging process, but he knew that there was so much more maturity would add to this already amazing young woman, and that chronology would only work to his benefit.

Della grasped his wrists and squeezed lightly as he remained silent, her silence accepting of and comfortable with his.

A throat was cleared behind them, and they smiled at each other before turning to see who had drawn the short straw this time.

* * *

Bart pulled the piano bench out for his wife, who slid past him to take her seat at the keyboard. Brett, her designated page-turner, took his seat from the other side.

"Wait until you hear this," Perry whispered to Della, holding his head close to hers. Had she always smelled so good?

"The last time you said something like that was right before I enjoyed one of the best meals of my life," Della whispered back. "I can hardly wait."

Dinner, served at the early hour of five o'clock, was over, dinnerware and 'tablecloth' discarded; the kitchen spotless, and all seven of them were now in the spacious living room, lit by the Christmas tree and a few candles transferred from the family room. Brad and BJ had immediately stretched out on the floor in front of the tree to play cards while their parents and younger brother headed for the piano. Perry dropped to the sofa and patted the cushion next to him when Della would have taken a seat in the overstuffed chair nearest the piano. Caution was one thing, she decided settling down next to him and arranging her voluminous skirt artfully around her with much rustling, aloofness was part of a game she didn't want to play.

What followed was a lovely little concert of popular Christmas songs in mostly three parts – Valerie singing melody in a passable soprano; Brett in a bright, clear tenor; and Bart in a rich, full baritone befitting of his size. Occasionally Brad and BJ joined in on the melody an octave lower, but largely only listened, the toes of their stockinged feet curling and uncurling in time to their mother's expert playing as they concentrated on their game of War.

It was halfway through 'Silver Bells' that Perry realized there was a fourth part mingling with the trio at the piano, and turned to find Della's head tipped back against the couch cushion, eyes closed, humming along in a flawless alto harmony. The song ended, and the silence forced her to open her eyes to find six other pairs of eyes staring at her in awe.

"That sounded really cool, Aunt Della," Brett said on behalf of the entire Mason family.

"I didn't know you could sing." Perry noticed the dim light couldn't hide the fact that Della blushed at his nephew's compliment.

"Come up here and sing with us," Valerie ordered in a voice that wouldn't accept no for an answer. "I never realized how much we needed the alto part before. _I'll Be Home for Christmas_ is next. You can decide what version we do: Elvis, Bing, Sinatra, or Perry Como."

"Hey guys," Della began to cover her uncharacteristic bashfulness, rooted to her seat on the couch, "did you know your Uncle Perry knows Perry Como?"

Valerie appeared to be the most interested in that tidbit. "Really? Is he a client?"

Della shook her head. "If he was a client I wouldn't be able to tell you about him."

"Then how do you know Perry Como, Uncle Perry?" BJ inquired, slamming down an ace and stealing his brother's last king.

Perry grimaced slightly. "Well, Della thought it was a good idea to sign me up for the 'Perry Club' because I guess I lack certain basic social skills."

"The Perry Club? What the heck is that?" Bart asked as his wife tittered.

Della grinned. "It's a club for anyone with the first name 'Perry'. They meet only in months with five Tuesdays, so only four or five times a year, to enjoy the company of others named Perry. Mr. Como showed up at a meeting, and he was quite taken with your Uncle Perry."

Now it was Perry's turn to blush uncomfortably, which only made Valerie laugh harder and Della grin wider. All three boys looked at their uncle, famous in his own right; impressed that he knew someone famous. "Della thought I might bond with those unfortunate enough to have the same first name. She's paid dearly for it. I make her type all the meeting notes, and the recording secretary is a doctor."

Della's grin became full out laughter. "_**You**_ pointed out the advertisement in the classifieds to _**me.**_"

"Not because I wanted to join the damn club," he shot back with mock indignity. "I merely thought it was interesting and the next thing I know, I'm attending meetings and becoming President in a criminally rigged election. And I know a couple things about criminality…"

Della's laughter now came in merry gales. "Mr. Como nominated him," she told everyone, wiping tears away with the back of one hand, "and then moved to close nominations. Uncle Perry became President in an immediate unanimous vote."

"His name isn't even really Perry," Perry said in good-natured disgust. "Perry is short for some Italian name. I'm going to find a 'Della Club' and sign _**you**_ up for it. See how you like it."

"I'd love it!"

He scowled, threat foiled before it could be carried out. "You would too, wouldn't you?"

Valerie wiped tears from her own eyes. "That's all very amusing, Della, but don't think for a moment this little diversion will get you out of singing with us."

"Ha!" Perry exclaimed, clapping his hands and all but pushing Della off of the couch. "The lady of the house has spoken."

"Elvis," BJ called.

"Bing," Valerie contradicted.

"Sinatra," Bart overruled.

Della leaned her hip against the piano, arms crossed over her chest. "How about we do our own version? Do you know the intro?"

"What intro?"

"Well that answers that question," Della said _**sotto voce**_, leaning over and peeking at the sheet music in front of Valerie. "Give me the key and I'll see what I can do with the intro, then just come in when I nod my head."

Valerie struck a C chord and everyone sucked in their breaths simultaneously in anticipation.

Della's voice was lush and slightly low, like her speaking voice, and harmonized perfectly with Valerie, Bart, and Brett as they joined in on the rest of the song, singing it twice through.

BJ and Brad jumped up, applauding enthusiastically, both giving piercing whistles of appreciation while the quartet gathered around the piano congratulated each other on a fine rendition despite never having sung together.

Perry was stunned, his applause tardy and out of sync. He knew Della loved music and danced divinely, and she hummed quite a bit around the office, but he had no idea she could actually _**sing**_. Did the wonders of Della Street never end?

Discovering this latest surprise about Della degraded his shabby night of illicit kissing even further. How could he, even for a split second, have thought anything he once had with Ellen could compare with what he already shared with Della? Every day he learned some new fascinating fact or saw some never before revealed detail about her, truly a flower blossoming petal by exquisite petal before his enraptured eyes. Ellen was smart and capable, but much like Laura Cavanaugh was 'high maintenance'; the kind Della identified as the worst kind of high maintenance women: the kind who were definitely high maintenance but considered themselves to be low maintenance. They needed all attention on them at all times, and it had exhausted him after the early rush of new romance evaporated.

Della's perfection shone the light on how similar Ellen and Laura were, how each, in spite of their intelligence and accomplishments required, no _**demanded**_ to be taken care of, pampered, acquiescence expected so the way was always their way. And he had gladly fallen for it, because his mother had told him to be kind and gentle, to pamper and spoil, to take care of the women he involved himself with, to shower them with jewelry, and above all to be respectful. But what his mother hadn't told him, and what he had learned from his beautiful Della these past months, was that pampering and spoiling and taking care of a woman was so much more fulfilling when it wasn't demanded or expected, when it was met with genuine appreciation and reciprocated in gently humbling ways. He placed his hand over his heart, where the shorthand symbols representing her name were an invisible tattoo he would carry with him the remainder of his life.

"Planning on reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, Chief?"

Perry blinked. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed Della retake her seat next to him. Closer to him this time, her fabulous skirt partially covering his leg, not fanned out as a protective mote around the castle. "Concert over already?"

Her eyes were full of merriment. "What song do you remember hearing last?"

"_I'll Be Home for Christmas. _You just sang it."

"That was two songs ago, Uncle Perry," Brett said, rolling his eyes. "Our talent is wasted on this audience."

Della patted Perry's knee. "Continue your daydream. We're taking a dessert break now that dinner has settled."

"For the time-being," Bart intoned in a deeply ill-omened voice, which his sons thought was hysterical. "Come on, Miss Street. I'll make the Irish coffee while you and my lovely wife set out whatever it was you spent all morning creating."

* * *

What Valerie and Della had been creating all morning turned out to be frosted icebox cookies made from the last of the dough Valerie had mixed up a week earlier, crescent-shaped almond cookies liberally sprinkled with powdered sugar (Bart's favorite), tiny cheesecakes made in muffin tins, and what Della called 'bark'.

And what a treat it was.

Perry had eaten bark before and been unimpressed. The two forms he was most familiar with – chocolate and peppermint – weren't his favorite flavors (and chocolate tended to repeat on him, which to his embarrassment Della had witnessed several times during stressful cases when the only sustenance was Paul Drake's never-ending supply of candy bars), so when Della offered him the platter laden with her special bark, he was pleased to see she had made a batch of white chocolate just for him.

Here was another revelation about Della: the woman could cook, and had a knack for identifying a secret ingredient or a new way of preparing something that was interesting and very palatable.

"Saltines," she replied to Bart's question about why her bark was so much better than all the other bark he had ever eaten. "Butter, brown sugar, and saltines."

Perry reached for his fourth piece. "Who would have thought…"

Della raised an eyebrow. "Yes, who would have thought?" She was back on the couch, even closer to him than before, sitting on the edge of the cushion, one leg drawn up and tucked behind the other.

Perry sat back and munched on the bark, contemplating his secretary silently as she sipped her Irish coffee and watched with a big smile while his nephews opened the one gift they were allowed to open on Christmas Eve. Despite what he had done, despite her disappointment – and his – she looked happy. It was all he had wanted for her after cutting her trip short and unexpectedly showing up at the Bar Association gala, why he had insisted that she spend Christmas with his family, who pretty much lived a Norman Rockwell existence. She didn't want to talk about what happened, but he sensed even though she claimed she had expected it to go badly, it still must have hurt.

And then he'd hurt her even more.

But look at her - which he gladly did. You would never know she was in a house of strangers, people she had only known for a few days. They were his family and she fit in better than he did. Everyone loved her. Except for Bart – which was to be expected because Bart took his time letting people into the inner sanctum of his good graces. It wasn't clear to him how much Della had told Val about what he'd done, since Val avoided being alone with him and occasionally sent daggered looks his way. Maybe that told him **_exactly_** how much Val knew about the situation. The realization surprised him, because even though Della was a much more outgoing person than he, she was still very private about certain things – and her feelings for him had been one of those things she guarded fiercely.

Della's laugh, pure and joyful, snapped him out of his morose reverie. The boys had ripped the paper off their gifts to reveal what they opened every Christmas Eve: matching sets of pajamas, and in another strictly adhered to tradition, in unison looked heavenward and said "Thank you, Mee-na." Della turned her head swiftly and Perry took her hand in his.

"My mother always gave the boys pajamas for Christmas," he explained. Unnecessarily, he surmised by the quick rise and fall of her chest as she tried to regain her composure. "Bart and I always got a new pair on Christmas Eve as well when we were kids."

Della was still struggling with her tears and Perry was still holding her hand when the doorbell rang. Bart, who was directing the boys where to stand so their mother could take a photograph of them holding up their pajamas, frowned ferociously.

"Who the hell comes calling at almost nine o'clock on Christmas Eve?" he asked no one in particular, heading with perturbed long-legged strides from the living room to the front door.

Della finally turned back to face Perry, and he caught his breath. There was no woman lovelier than this woman, no woman who could ever hold his heart so irrevocably. She had lost the battle with her tears, but her face was alight with the most joy-filled smile he had ever beheld. There was nothing that could have stopped him. He drew her to him and kissed her.

"Look who's here, everybody," Bart announced from the archway that separated the living room and foyer. "Mrs. Payne."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Ellen Payne stood in the arched doorway, bundled in her sable coat over tan wool slacks and an ecru Dalton cashmere sweater with a collar of blonde mink, a sable crisscross headband crowning her golden hair, clutching a bottle of champagne and a manila envelope. She stared at Perry Mason while he took his damn time kissing his secretary bold as anything. Didn't she know? Ellen suffered Perry's rudeness with what to her was aplomb, only tapping her foot two or three times.

"I apologize for interrupting your Christmas Eve," she spoke in a cool, smooth voice, trying to sound warm and sincere but failing. She held the bottle of champagne aloft. "Burt and I are flying out in the morning and I need Bart's signature on the contract."

Bart cleared his throat, sneaking a glance at Valerie, who was still on her knees, holding the camera filled with pictures of their sons and a couple of Perry trying to sneak a kiss with Della. "Why don't we go into the kitchen and talk, Ellen," he said, taking her elbow and pulling her back into the foyer.

"The nerve!" Valerie exploded after her husband and their unexpected guest disappeared from sight.

"If she's flying out she does need his signature," Della pointed out logically, gently removing her hand from Perry's. They would talk about that kiss later. Yes siree Bob.

"Don't excuse what Ellen is doing. You know she could have sent it over by messenger and Bart could have mailed it back to her office," Valerie seethed. "She wants more than Bart's signature." Her eyes involuntarily shifted to Perry, as did Della's, then quickly away.

Perry stood and stretched, then shoved his hands in the pockets of his corduroy trousers. "I should probably go over that contract before Bart signs it," he announced nonchalantly, heading for the kitchen through the dining room.

"Hey guys, would you go upstairs until it's time to leave for church?" Valerie turned to her silent, big-eyed sons. All three had remained standing in a row, the tops of their new pajamas held beneath their chins.

"Are we moving, Mom?" It was Brett who spoke, sweet, sensitive Brett.

"We'll let Dad tell us that, sweetie, okay? Take the cocoa and cookies up with you."

Quietly for them, the three boys gathered the thermos of cocoa and the tray of goodies, and headed upstairs, concern etched on their young faces. Their mother hadn't even cautioned them not make a mess with the food. Something was wrong.

"Let's listen from the dining room," Valerie suggested, using the piano bench to assist her to her feet.

"That might not be such a good idea, Val."

Valerie sighed and slumped down tiredly on the bench. "It's going to take everything I have to be nice to her once she pays Bart's salary."

"Did Bart really decide to accept her offer?"

Valerie studied her hands, in particular the gleaming gold wedding band on the third finger of her left hand. It was her most valuable possession and had never taken it off, not even during her pregnancies when her fingers swelled. The one time Bart had to remove his wedding ring he had become upset and agitated and asked Valerie to put it back on his finger when his hand injury was healed enough. Valerie was quite sure Brad had been conceived that very night. "We talked. It's his dream to coach a professional team. We went over all the arguments for and against, but ultimately I left it up to him. I can be a mother anywhere, give piano lessons anywhere, play in an orchestra anywhere. Bart has to live wherever the team he coaches plays, and I have to be there too or we won't be a family."

Della rose and walked over the where Valerie was hunched on the piano bench. She sat down and put her arm around her employer's sister-in-law, her _friend_, and laid the older woman's head on her shoulder. "Well, then I'm looking forward to seeing more of you when you move back to California."

* * *

Ellen accepted a light for her cigarette from Bart, and leaned against the dinette chair to watch Perry dawdle over the contract, head down, his own cigarette burning to ash between his fingers, forgotten. She had wanted Perry to light her cigarette, to caress her hand, to linger over the simple but intimate act of chivalry, but she needed one badly and he showed no signs of coming up for air anytime soon. It was a standard contract, she didn't know why he felt it necessary to read it, let alone go over with the proverbial fine-tooth comb. Did he think she would try to put something over on the brother of an attorney?

"It seems straightforward to me," Perry finally said, flicking an inch of ash from the end of his cigarette and taking a pull from it. "Basic five-year terms with performance-based bonus stipulations and a two-year mutual option. I see nothing to keep you from signing." He flipped to the signature page and slid the document across the table toward his brother.

"Of course there isn't," Ellen agreed brightly, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small box that when opened revealed a Waterman Safety fountain pen with a gold filigree overlay. "I like a bit of ceremony when I sign contracts. This is the pen my grandfather used to sign the agreement to purchase the Wildcats." She proffered the pen to Bart.

Bart glanced at the pen, then down at the contract. He reached out and accepted the pen from Ellen Payne, then glanced at Perry, who was paying an inordinate amount of attention to lighting another cigarette. He touched the tip of the fountain pen to the contract. A dot appeared and spread on the paper. He snatched the pen away and dropped it on the tablecloth, splattering drops of ink on Valerie's prized poinsettia-patterned tablecloth. Perry snapped his lighter shut and looked up at his brother, startled.

"Why Bart," Ellen exclaimed in surprise, retrieving her Grandfather's pen and using a tissue to wipe ink from the nib. "What's the matter?"

"I've changed my mind, Ellen." Bart looked confused for a moment, as if he had to warm up to his own startling reversal. "This isn't right for me or my family. I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll stay here for a while longer. I'll coach professional ball, I know I will. Maybe you should talk to Casey Banks. He's been a top-notch offensive coach and he knows your organization. I'll be sad to lose him, but he deserves a shot." He pushed back his chair and stood.

"Are you certain about this, Bart?" Perry asked. "Do you want more money, moving expenses? Higher bonus percentage?"

Bart rolled back his shoulders, which up to that moment had been slumped forward uncomfortably. "Yes, I'm certain. Nothing will change my mind. I'm going to tell my wife. Ellen, I hope you're not upset about flying here at Christmas only to go home empty-handed."

"Oh, I won't be empty-handed," Ellen said through a stiff smile. "Go tell your wife." She stubbed out her cigarette, lips pursed in an annoyed little frown.

"So you're going to call Casey Banks?" Perry asked after Bart exited the kitchen.

"I don't think so. I'll go back to L.A. and look over the other candidates. We'll have to start the entire search process over again. I'll certainly throw Casey's hat in the ring, but Bart is going to be hard to replace. "

Perry's eyes glittered. "Yes, he will be. You were serious about this, about signing Bart to coach the Wildcats, weren't you?"

Ellen turned wide eyes to him. "Why Perry! Of course I was serious. Think of me what you will, or listen to what Val thinks of me, but I assure you that my business decisions can't be faulted. I would never compromise the Wildcats."

She began to gather up her things, the fountain pen, the contract, her monogrammed gold cigarette case, but Perry put his hand over hers. "Can you stay a bit longer? If you still want me to help with finding your father and keeping your brother out of jail, I'd like to have Della come in and take notes to get us started."

Ellen lowered those heavily coated lashes. "Do you think that's the best thing?"

"Of course it's the best thing. I gave her the highlights, but we need as much information as possible for Paul Drake to get started on such a cold trail."

You talked to her about me?"

"Yes. I talk about everything with Della."

Ellen laughed softly, indulgently, victoriously. "Oh Perry. I saw you this morning. You came back." She placed her other hand over his.

"If you saw me, then you know I drove away without getting out of the car."

"But you were there, Perry. That tells me everything I need to know."

Perry withdrew his hand and her covetous smile vanished. "What did it tell you, Ellen?"

"It-it told me you had second thoughts about the way things ended last night. Why else would you have come back?"

"Why else indeed," Perry echoed. "I'll tell you why else, Ellen. I drove out there to apologize for what I did and what I said. After thinking about it I realized I was a bit harsh."

"No harsher than right now, I assure you," Ellen responded sullenly. "So you checked with Della."

"Not until after I went back to the chalet. I drove around for over three hours trying to come to terms with what I had done. With what we had almost done. And the only thing I could think of to do was tell her and hope she would forgive me."

"Has she?"

"She's working on it. I hope she will." _I hope she can_, _especially after I ask her to come in here to take notes._

"You were about to make love to me, Perry. You must have felt something. You can't ignore that."

"I'm not ignoring it, Ellen. There wasn't a reason for me to do it, and I shouldn't have. We hadn't seen each other in a long time, and I got carried away with memories. It didn't mean anything to me."

"It didn't mean anything to you? Oh…what about what it meant to me? What about _**me**_, Perry?"

"I'll help you however I can with your family problems, but that's it, Ellen."

"But you came back! Obviously you think there's something unresolved between us..."

"Unresolved? There is nothing unresolved between us. You dumped me for Burt. _Twice_. You married him. I'd say you resolved whatever it was between us, Ellen." The Ellen he'd met at twenty was so very different from the woman in front of him now, and it made him terribly sad to see what inherited wealth and marriage to Burt Payne had done to her.

"I'm divorcing Burt. The day after Christmas I'm calling Harvey."

"It makes no difference Ellen. Go ahead and divorce Burt, but do it because it's best for you and not for any other reason."

She tapped her long beige nails on the tablecloth, licked her lips, and stared at him. "You'll help me – help my family?"

"I'm willing to help, yes, but not until you understand I can't be anything more than your friend. Any shenanigans and I'll toss you out on your ear just like I'd do with any other client."

Ellen opened the gold case, a gift from her husband bought with _her_ money, and tapped a cigarette on the table methodically, contemplating her options. "You are a very handsome man," she said after long quiet moments. "Everyone said we made such an attractive couple, me being small and blonde and you being so tall and dark. But that isn't the only way we're opposites, is it?"

Perry merely shrugged.

"Maintaining diplomatic silence?" Ellen laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

Perry shrugged again. Sometimes saying nothing was more effective than lecturing.

"All right, Mr. Mason. Call your pretty secretary in here. I haven't packed and we're flying out early in the morning."

* * *

"Bart, what is the longest we've ever gone not making love?"

Bart Mason lowered the book he was reading and looked up at his wife over the top of his glasses, brows drawn together quizzically. "I'm a very lucky man," he said slowly, "maybe four or five weeks after the kids were born. Aside from those times, possibly ten days."

"Eleven days," she confirmed. She wriggled her toes, nails polished two night ago by the bear of a man she loved, the man who had delayed his dream because it wasn't right for his family. "In eighteen years of marriage, the longest you've gone without sex is eleven days when I wasn't recovering from giving birth – and even then you didn't have to wait as long as most men do. As I recall with Brett, it was _barely_ four weeks."

Bart looked back down at his book but none of the words made sense anymore. Sometimes the topics of conversation his wife pursued stretched the boundaries of decency, which normally was fine with him because he found it arousing, but obviously she had been doing a lot of thinking and had something of import to make him aware of. "As I said, I'm a lucky man. Am I about to be lucky right now?"

"Why do you still not like Della?"

"I guess not," Bart sighed, setting his book aside and taking off his glasses. "I like Della. She's a peach. She makes the best cole slaw I've ever tasted, and that bark! That is the most evil concoction I've ever been forced to eat."

"You didn't have to eat it," Val said dryly. "At least not an entire pound of it."

"I couldn't be rude. She was so proud of it."

"You couldn't be rude about not eating the bark, but you could be rude about inviting Ellen here at Christmastime?"

"When I invited Ellen I didn't know brother-of-mine was bringing his secretary to spend Christmas with us. I've apologized for that."

"Della wasn't supposed to be his secretary for the holiday," Valerie told him quietly. "He told us how he feels at Thanksgiving, Bart. When are you going to accept Perry is a grown man capable of making his own choices?"

"I'm not to blame for Perry's bad behavior," Bart said defensively, drawing up his knees and draping his arms over them. "He made _**that**_ choice all by himself." Perhaps the case could be made that he led the horse to water, but he definitely hadn't forced his brother to drink.

"You know Perry has always felt a responsibility for Ellen's problems. That's why you took advantage of what Casey Banks told you about her marriage and invited her here instead of on more neutral ground somewhere else. Perry has this irrational belief that if he had made more of an effort to get to know Burt Payne in college, he could have kept Ellen from marrying him. Burt's behavior triggered that – that _**thing**_ in Perry that makes him want to take care of whatever mess Ellen is in."

"If Perry had been able to break up Ellen and Burt, he would be married to Ellen right now with a house full of kids."

"No, I don't think he would have married Ellen." Valerie studied her perfectly manicured toes. If Bart ever wanted to stop coaching, he could be a manicurist. His fingers were large, but dexterous and gentle, and she loved it when he touched her. Anywhere. She should be appalled at the course of her thoughts less than an hour before attending church services, but admittedly part of the reason their sex life was so healthy could be traced to less than an hour before _many_ church services.

"Then he'd be married to Laura and living in Denver with a couple of kids."

"Why do you think he would be married at all? I'm quite sure if he had married either Ellen or Laura, he would be divorced by now. And he wouldn't have any kids. Those women are not meant to be mothers."

"He might be, but divorce wouldn't have been his idea. In for a penny, in for a pound, that's Perry."

Valerie regarded her husband searchingly. "I think that's the most insightful thing you've ever said about him." She scooted closer to her husband and nudged his shoulder with her shoulder. "You are so wrong about the type of woman Perry should be with. Ellen and Laura are attractive, successful, and wealthy, but he wasn't happy when he was with them, and he knows that. He's happy now, with Della. She's smart and funny, she's spectacular at her job, and she cares for him, who he is deep down inside. I doubt either Ellen or Laura knew who he really was. They only saw what they wanted him to be, and what they tried to make him be. You should want your brother to be happy, Bart. Della says she can set this all aside and move on with Perry. I hope so. It has to be difficult for her to sit in a meeting with Ellen as a client knowing who she is, what she's done, and what she wants."

When Bart emerged from the kitchen, he'd walked by the living room and motioned for Valerie to follow him upstairs, where he gathered the boys and told them they weren't moving. Brett had been relieved, Brad indifferent, BJ a little disappointed. Valerie, of course, had been thrilled, and on her way back downstairs to tell Della, she ran smack into her coming up the stairs to get a steno pad. Valerie didn't think it was the best idea so soon after the, um, _crime_ to have Ellen and Della in the same room, but Della insisted it was her job and she was going to do it. So Valerie had gone back to her bedroom and told Bart they were staying upstairs and out of the way until it was time to go to church.

Bart nudged Valerie, until they were nudging each other back and forth, tit for tat. "I will apologize to both my brother and Miss Street. Will that make _**you**_ happy, my darling wife?"

Valerie could never believe how quick her big husband was, and found herself suddenly on her back with those talented fingers touching her in places ladies didn't say out loud. "Bart. Bart! One more thing…"

Bart groaned. "Honey, it's been five days…"

"That's the thing." Her long, thin fingers unbuttoned his shirt to get at the soft hair on his massive chest. "It's been five days for you. For Perry, it's been fifteen months."

Bart pushed himself up, elbows locked on either side of her, and stared down into his wife's blue eyes. "What?"

"Perry told Della he hasn't been with a woman since Laura left. That was fifteen months ago. He wants that girl, Bart. How long would you have waited for me?"

"I believe the correct answer is forever, but I'm thinking you are trying to make a different point here."

"Perry is a human male, and Ellen is an attractive woman he has a history with. You thought something like this might happen if you got the two of them together based on Casey's stories about how unhappy Ellen is with Burt. You would get a professional coaching job and Perry would be with a woman you consider worthy of him. Everything _**you**_ wanted. Only it wasn't fair to Perry, or to Ellen, and it really wasn't fair to that lovely young woman your brother is in love with."

"Well, in the end I didn't get _**anything**_ I wanted."

Tears formed in Valerie's eyes as her hands traveled from her husband's chest to his shoulders, then down his arms. "Do you really want that job?"

Bart didn't answer right away, still holding his wife captive between his powerful arms, legs tangled with hers. What he had told Ellen was the truth. He would coach professionally eventually. Right now he was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do. He shouldn't have said that to Val. "No. I thought I did. I thought you needed to be the wife of a big-shot. I was going to buy you a bigger house, a better car, a diamond ring…"

"It would interfere with playing the piano and I'd be afraid to wear it," Valerie whispered. "Honey, if you want the job, go downstairs right now and tell Ellen you changed your mind."

Bart settled his heft on Valerie gently, wrapping her in arms that had never held another woman so intimately. According to Perry he hadn't been such a good big brother, but he knew he was a good husband and father, and if Perry thought Della would make him happy, then maybe it wasn't too late for him to be the big brother he should have been all along. "No. I don't think I would have been a good fit with Ellen's Wildcats. This is best. Maybe I'll put feelers out in the PCC or Big Ten. What do you think of the Arizona Wildcats or the Northwestern Wildcats?"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_Note: My apologies for the lengthy gap between postings. I originally thought I could get this story edited and completed by Epiphany (Jan 6), but because bits of it are in electronic files and other bits in hand-written notes it's been challenging to say the least._

_Another challenge has been the fact that I live in Michigan where the weather is horrendous. After work on Jan 6 I was brushing another six inches of snow from my car when I slipped on the ice, flung out my arm to steady myself, and whacked the back of my hand against the side mirror, breaking every single blood vessel (but not one fingernail!). Add to that the fact my other hand requires surgery to correct a weird little disorder, and this chapter has literally been painful to complete._

_There have been a couple of questions posed regarding this story that I intend to answer when I no longer say 'ouch' whenever I touch a key. The questions are thoughtful and thought-provoking and I think my answers/explanations will be satisfactory and show how involved I am in this little fanfic universe I've created. I welcome questions and criticism because all input can only help me with future stories. _

_Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. _

_~D _

There was not a great deal that Ellen added to what Perry had told her earlier, but Della dutifully jotted everything down in her notepad, and used this first business meeting to evaluate their newest client in a different light than that of the night before – not to mention that afternoon.

Ellen Izworski Payne was quite attractive. Naturally blonde, not very tall, short-waisted and busty, hands and feet small. Stylish and feminine were words Della would use to describe her. She favored the color beige, and knew how to dress her figure to give the illusion of having a waist. The mink-collared sweater she wore was divine, the length and vertical line of the collar elongating her short stature and the delicate color blending with her fair complexion. Her fingernails were long and talon-like, painted pinkish-beige, and she wore expensive jewelry, including a large diamond solitaire on her left hand and a three-row cuff bracelet of golden South Seas pearls and matching drop earrings.

"Your father hasn't contacted you directly in over twenty-five years?" Perry was standing, leaning actually, against the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area, arms crossed over his chest, ankles crossed. Della would have said he was relaxed if his face weren't so stony, his voice hard. He usually didn't display that face unless he was ready to get down and dirty about something. What had gone on in that short span of time between Bart's exit from the kitchen and the moment Perry emerged to request that she take notes of their newest client's situation? She almost wished she _had _listened earlier from the dining room as Valerie suggested.

Ellen nodded. What was with Perry's tone of voice and why was he questioning her so relentlessly? She would much prefer to chat with his secretary, who looked very different than she had the previous night. In the sophisticated pleated dress she had been elegant and graceful, turning every man's head – although she had been unable to keep Perry's turned toward her, Ellen thought, allowing herself a smidgeon of smugness. Tonight, in the boldly patterned circle skirt that whispered and sighed every time she moved, she was less elegant and more like a secretary than a femme fatale, yet Ellen got the impression Perry never took his eyes from her. Interesting.

Della Street was very pretty, Ellen decided magnanimously. Hair a reddish brown that indicated she likely was bedeviled with freckles, tall in her three-inch suede pumps (which Ellen recognized as the latest style, and pricey to boot), perky breasts, willowy waist, as well as comely hands and long fingers with short but well-shaped nails painted 'secretary red'. Her only jewelry was twin gold medallions on a heavy link chain around her neck and unusual gold dangle earrings.

"Did your family ever attempt to have him declared legally dead?"

Ellen tried not to frown, weary of Perry's questions, of Della's pencil scratching on paper, of the secretary's calm, efficient attitude, of holding herself together in the face of Perry's earlier rejection and his current awareness of his secretary's every move. A good, stiff drink would be nice right about now. "Once. My grandparents blocked the attempt by producing recent correspondence with him."

Perry's stone face cracked a bit as he leaned forward with interest. "And when was this?"

Ellen sighed, looking heavenward, trying to remember. "When I was about sixteen, I think. Let's see…he left when I was four, and I received birthday cards from him on my next four birthdays, so yes, I must have been almost sixteen because the seven-year waiting period would have elapsed. But my grandparents appeared at the hearing with cards and letters that proved to be from my father. They never accepted him as anything but their fair-haired boy and blamed my mother for forcing him to leave. According to them, he was devastated by her accusations but wouldn't cause her public embarrassment by denying them, so he simply disappeared. Every couple of years after that they made a point of letting Mother know they had heard from him."

"Was any of that correspondence found in your grandparent's effects after they passed away?"

"_Babcia_ kept every card and every letter from him," Ellen affirmed. "We found it all underneath her bed in a box along with a few photographs. It was the only thing I took from the house. We auctioned off everything after she died, from the silverware to the house itself, and that's the money I put in trust for my brothers."

Della flipped the page over on her notebook and glanced up at Perry. He noticed, and the corners of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.

"Do you still have that box?"

"Yes. But I'm afraid nothing will be very helpful. There are no envelopes, no return addresses. They were probably discarded on purpose. The most recent photo in the box was taken when he was about twenty, right before he and Mother married."

"I'd still like to see whatever is in the box. We might be able to find some indication of where he is, or at least where he's been."

"All right," Ellen said dubiously. "I can have it brought to your office after the New Year."

"We'll be back to work on the second," Della said. "Do you know where the office is?"

Ellen nodded, taking note of the secretary's proprietary use of the word 'we'. "Do I pay a retainer now?" She directed the question to Perry and not to his secretary.

"As a matter of formality that would be a good idea. Do you have a five dollar bill? Della will write out a receipt. I'll contact Paul Drake and get him started right away."

As Ellen fished in her purse for her wallet and Della dashed off a receipt, Perry watched the two women through heavy-lidded eyes, cognizant of how different they were from the inside out, and of how far he had come in his life.

"I do appreciate this, Perry." Ellen unsnapped her wallet and pulled out a crisp five dollar bill. Della signed the receipt in her neat, compact handwriting, tore the page from her notebook, and the women exchanged cash for paper. "It's nice to know I have a friend I can count on. Stevie will appreciate it too," she added as an afterthought.

"I'm having trouble imagining Stevie as anything but an eight-year old kid," Perry said with a flash of a grin. "I can't believe he's old enough to get married. I'd like to talk to him about all of this."

"Mother can't believe her baby wants to get married, either. She's devastated Glenda's parents won't allow them to marry because of her and they will accept nothing less than a Church annulment of the first marriage. Mother first tried about a year after Father disappeared, but she wasn't divorced and was counseled that my existence proved the marriage to be sacred and tribunals generally didn't like to illegitimize children. So she divorced him civilly on the grounds of abandonment and tried again. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, and it caused a rift between the families, but she was young and wasn't about to spend her life married to a drunk who hit her then ran away. She said she had to protect me and give me a better life." Tears welled in Ellen's eyes and she once again reached into her purse, this time emerging with a monogrammed handkerchief of the finest linen, which she used to dab at her eyes.

Della's first reaction to Ellen's tears was that it was a shame the beautiful handkerchief would be ruined by running mascara. Her second thought was that her employer's former inamorata was using the tears as a sympathy ploy – which showed how much she didn't know about Perry Mason – purposefully and calculatedly to ensure her place at the center of attention. But as the tears continued to spill from her eyes, Della realized that Ellen was genuinely upset, overwhelmed by her mother's strength and love, and the unhappiness her brother was experiencing. She reached out impulsively and placed her hand on Ellen's arm.

Ellen Payne almost had her tears under control when by virtue of a simple gesture, Della Street proved to be the better of the two of them. That little gesture broke a dam of emotions Ellen hadn't experienced in many years. The sodden scrap of linen was useless against the fresh torrent of tears that poured down her cheeks as she cried over the fact no one had showed much sympathy toward her in too many years to count.

"I have all this money," Ellen sobbed. "I should be able to help my family."

Perry placed his handkerchief next to Ellen on the table and marveled at how without a word Della found a remnant of the Ellen he once knew before money, Burt Payne, and life in general changed her.

"We'll get Stefan involved right away," Perry said quietly, the hard edge gone from his voice. "He's moving up the ranks in the Church quickly. Maybe he can convince the ecclesiastical tribunal to reconsider granting your mother an annulment."

Ellen sniffled and blew her nose. "Th-that would solve everything. Could it be that easy? I just hope it can be done before Stevie does something rash. He's a good kid, but kind of a hot-head when he thinks something is unfair. Did I tell you he plans to go into politics? That's another reason to put this whole arranged marriage chapter of my family's history to rest."

"Something you said has been digging at me," Perry said thoughtfully. "Where did you get the idea that an annulment would illegitimize your birth?"

"Why…that's what I remember Mother telling me." Ellen wiped her eyes and blew her nose again. "Every time she pursued her application for annulment, it was declined for several reasons, but that one sticks out in my mind as the ultimate reason for denial. I've always felt illegitimate anyway. My biological father was gone, and the man who I knew as my father, the man who loved me and raised me, was never able to adopt me. My grandparents fought that even harder than declaring my father dead."

"Ellen, I told you I don't know much about Catholic canon, but I do know the law. Annulment does not make any children born during the marriage illegitimate. "

"What do you mean? If a marriage is nullified, how can children of that marriage not be considered illegitimate?"

"Because despite being nullified, there exists an _assumption_ of marriage. A Catholic annulment is not a legal process. It's merely a declaration that the _Sacrament_ of marriage never existed between the parties involved."

"That makes my head hurt." Ellen said with a little frown. "I gave up on the Church by the time I was ten, so I know next to nothing about Catholicism. I threw such fits Mother stopped trying to force me to go and left me home with Dad while she and the boys attended mass. I've never understood how she could continue to be faithful to a religion that considered her a sinner. It just didn't seem right to me that she would accept being judged so harshly for doing what was best for her child."

"But isn't that what faith is?" Della asked. "Complete trust in or devotion to something even in the face of great difficulty?"

Perry wanted to hug Della.

Ellen shrugged, wondering if she had any faith at all in anything. "I just know that as a young girl I couldn't devote myself to being a Catholic and I'm even less interested as an adult. But my mother and brothers are devout. Mother goes to mass every morning even though she's in what they call a regular state of sin."

"What about your father – George Sutton I mean. He doesn't attend mass?" Perry lowered his chin to his chest to conceal the persistent desire in his eyes for Della.

"Dad calls himself a 'recovering Catholic'. He was baptized in the Church, but he feels the same as I do. He says he's a better Christian and a better man than those phonies who are penitent on Sunday morning but forget the teachings of the Bible every other day of the week. The only time I've seen him in a church was for the baptisms of my brothers and for Carl's wedding."

"It's a good thing he's Catholic. I'd hate for your mother to finally be granted an annulment only to have the Nowicki's object to George not being Catholic. That sounds like it would be even more difficult to overcome."

Ellen's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that. I don't think Dad would willingly be baptized Catholic if he wasn't already."

"Speaking of being baptized," Della said, closing her notebook and calling an end to the meeting. "It's almost time to leave for midnight services."

Perry glanced at his watch distractedly, not really registering the time, his mind turning over everything Ellen had related, and wondering if there really was anything he could do other than coordinate Paul's activities and a meeting with Stefan Corro. A few things Ellen said just didn't make sense in regard to the constant refusal of the tribunal to grant her mother an annulment, and who had 'counseled' Katarzyna all those years ago? "I think we have enough to get Paul started tracking down your father. Call next week to set up an appointment, with Steve if possible, to go over his preliminary report."

"I'm sorry I interrupted Christmas Eve with your family," Ellen said with gracious contrition, in vivid contrast to the reluctant manner in which she gathered her belongings and stuffed them back into her purse. She pulled her sable coat from the back of the dinette chair and draped it around her shoulders before standing. "Please give my apologies to Bart and Valerie. I really had only intended to get Bart's signature on the contract and leave."

Perry picked up the bottle of champagne Ellen had brought with her. "I'll walk you to your car."

"Oh! I didn't drive. I came in a taxi." Ellen's pale complexion reddened. "I didn't know how to get here…I have the number of the taxi company. I'll just call for another. Where is the telephone?"

Perry's face was expressionless as he set the champagne bottle back down. "It's right here on the counter." He caught Della's eyes. "I'll let Bart and Val know we'll be ready to leave on time."

* * *

Bart opened the door to the bedroom before Perry knocked. The brothers both blinked in surprise.

Perry recovered first. "I came up to tell you Ellen will be leaving soon. She's calling a taxi right now, so we'll be able to leave for church on time."

"Good. Valerie was beginning to get antsy that you wouldn't be going with us."

"We'll be going with you," Perry assured him firmly. "Della's been looking forward to the service and I'm not going to disappoint her again."

Bart stepped across the threshold of the doorway and pulled the door closed. "Speaking of disappointing…it has been brought to my attention that my behavior the past few days has fallen into that category. I owe you an apology. I should have been more welcoming of Miss Street and I shouldn't have invited Ellen to the Christmas party."

Bart had always been straightforward with him, so the apology without preamble was only surprising because it _**was**_ an apology. "Remember, Della met you previously. She was prepared for you to be less than welcoming."

"Come on, Perry, I'm trying to make things right here."

"I'm afraid nothing you can do will make things right," Perry replied ruefully. "Della may have been prepared for you being a jerk, but she wasn't prepared for me being a bigger jerk. I may have...it's going to take a long time for her…if she ever _**can**_…if _**I **_ever can…"

Perry's inarticulateness brought into perspective more than Val's words what his secretary meant to him. Bart cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the raw emotion in Perry's voice and his own shameful part played in bringing those emotions to the surface. "I thought you two patched things up earlier. You were kissing when Ellen arrived."

Perry ran his hand over his face and then through his hair. "I don't know if 'patched up' applies to where we are now. And I'm going to catch holy hell for not stopping that kiss when Ellen showed up."

"About Ellen – are you really going to take her on as a client?"

Perry toed the carpet dispiritedly, hands now shoved deep into his pockets. "I've already accepted a retainer."

"Della made you do it, didn't she?"

"I'm glad Val brought you up to speed about the going's-on around here lately," Perry returned sarcastically.

"Hey, Val's heart is in the right place, whereas yours and mine have been misplaced for a while. Val is the only one Della could turn to. If you want to be mad at somebody, pick me...or more appropriately, yourself."

"I shouldn't have invited Della to come with me. But I missed her to the point of distraction when she was with her own family for a few days. I couldn't imagine not being with her another day."

"I've never seen two people dance around each other more than you and your Miss Street." Bart leaned against the wall. "It's obvious there's something between the two of you. If working together and having a personal relationship isn't working, then fire her. Problem solved."

Perry shook his head. "No, you don't understand. Working together…it's what we do best. I wouldn't be half the attorney – hell, half the _**man **_– I am without her. I thought we had finally figured it out, how to work together and _**be**_ together, which is why I insisted that she come here with me. And she may have thought the same thing when she agreed to…but the past few days have proven that to be nothing more than wishful thinking."

"What the hell do you want, Perry?"

"I want Della." No hesitation, no introspective thought, no rationalization, just a pure statement of desire.

"Have you told her that?"

"I was going to tell her New Year's Eve."

"Then why did you go off the deep end with Ellen?"

"I didn't go off the deep end. I waded into the water farther than I should have, but I kept my head above water."

"That wasn't an answer."

"That's because I don't have an answer. I don't know why. Old memories got in the way of what I'm feeling right now and I couldn't control them."

"So what did you and Della talk about this afternoon? Val set a cozy little stage for you to kiss and make up."

Perry's hand went involuntarily to his chest, over his heart. "I told her I needed her and wanted to be with her. And I told her a little bit about Ellen, why I feel like I have to fix all of her problems for her." He looked over his shoulder, toward the stairs, away from the unfamiliarly sympathetic eyes of his older brother. "She's disappointed in me. I can't stand that."

"Perry," Bart began, and stopped, unsure of exactly what he should say. "Perry, the only woman I have ever loved is Val, so I don't know if I'm anyone to give you advice."

Perry stiffened, bracing himself for the inevitable lecture. Bart had been giving him 'advice' his entire life, and even though he said he didn't know if he should give advice right now, he was going to do it anyway.

"Don't give up on Miss Street, and don't let her give up on you."

Perry gaped at his brother.

"Go downstairs, bundle Ellen into a taxi, kiss your secretary, and come to church with us."

Perry continued to gape.

"For what it's worth, I was wrong about Della. I've been wrong about a lot of things when it comes to you, but in this instance I couldn't have been more wrong, and I hope you don't do anything else to chase her away."

It took Perry a few seconds to find his voice. "If my brother keeps his meddling nose out of my business, I might be able to repair the damage I've done and keep her."

Bart held out his hand, and Perry took it. The brother shook hands solemnly. "I sincerely hope you do," Bart said. "And one more bit of advice: don't ever, _**ever**_ leave Della alone with a former girlfriend again. What were you thinking, man?"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_NOTE: Thank you everyone, for the expressions of sympathy. My injured hand is healing and I'm not saying 'ouch' nearly as much._

_~D_

When Perry re-entered the kitchen, only Della was there, in the far corner of the room, tidying up something that didn't need to be tidied. She motioned for him to join her.

"Ellen is in the powder room," Della offered in reply to his silent question, "fixing her face. Things got emotional again after you went upstairs. No taxi can be here in less than an hour."

"Damn," Perry said under his breath. "Well, we'll just have to drive her back to the chalet."

Della elevated one eyebrow. "_**We'll**_ drive her back?"

"_**We'll**_ drive her," he repeated firmly, Bart's advice still ringing in his ears. "Then we'll meet Bart and Val at the church."

Della regarded Perry with a mixture of expressions: skepticism, disbelief, dismay.

"I don't need a chaperone," Perry went on hurriedly. "I'm trying to make this easier for you."

"Easier for me," Della said slowly. "Was kissing me like that in front of Ellen supposed to make things easier for me as well?"

"No," he admitted, "that was supposed to make things easier for _**me**_."

That eyebrow crept upward chillingly. "And did it?"

"No," he admitted again, his chagrin palpable. "It made things worse. Even _Bart_ called me on it."

"I don't want to be kissed when it's not about me and you, Chief. I will not be used to make points."

"That's not why I kissed you," he protested.

"Not at first. But when Ellen showed up you put me in the middle of whatever is going on between the two of you, and that's not fair."

"There's nothing going on between me and Ellen."

Della glanced toward the closed powder room door and lowered her voice. "Ellen seems to think otherwise. No woman shows up dressed like she is unless she thinks something is going on."

"She came here tonight under the impression that my feelings for her were unresolved, but I told her she was mistaken."

"_**Was**_ she mistaken, Chief?"

Perry took one step closer to her and leaned his forehead on hers. "Yes, Della. She was greatly mistaken. I still don't know why I did what I did. I regret every minute since Ellen walked into that country club, and I don't know how to make everything better. What can I do? Is there anything I _**can**_ do?"

Della brought her hands up to Perry's face. "Just be yourself, Chief. Be the man I know you are and we'll see what happens."

"I wanted your Christmas to be special. I am so sorry for embarrassing and hurting you."

"Well, it's a Christmas we'll certainly remember." She smiled at the rumble of three teenage boys tumbling down the stairs simultaneously and took a step back from him just as BJ, Brad, and Brett burst into the kitchen, and Ellen emerged from the powder room, all traces of her crying jag erased, clearly startled by the noise.

"Oh my Lord," Ellen exclaimed, hand over her heart. "I thought we were having an earthquake."

"Mom and Dad said we're leaving in exactly ten minutes or we won't get a decent seat," Brad announced. "We're going outside to brush snow off Dad's car and shovel the walk so Dad doesn't have to carry Mom because she won't wear boots to church."

As the aftershock of the earthquake subsided and the boys ran out the front door, Perry, Della, and Ellen moved from the kitchen to the foyer, where Perry opened the closet. Ellen averted her eyes as he held a fur coat out to his secretary and assisted her into it with great care and tender affection, arguing good-naturedly about the necessity of snow boots versus what was proper foot attire for a church service. Ellen shied away from the little scene, stepping aside slightly and looking down at her own beige and tan saddle shoe kitten heel pumps. Those boys had better do a good job shoveling the walk. She let her own coat slip off her shoulders in order to slide her arms into the sleeves and experienced a little thrill when Perry turned to assist her into it, as he had done so many times in the past. Ellen smiled her thanks up at him as she adjusted a boldly patterned silk Hermes scarf around her neck.

"That's a lovely coat, Miss Street," she commented, pulling on Italian silk-lined chocolate brown kid leather gloves.

"Thank you. I've been very thankful for it in this cold weather." She willed herself not to look at Perry, her smile soft and secret.

"You really should wear a scarf with your coat," Ellen continued, fingering her own scarf. "It keeps the fur from becoming discolored and matted at the collar."

Della couldn't will away the pink spots that appeared on her cheeks no matter how hard she tried. Of course. She knew that. There just hadn't been time or money to buy a scarf since Perry had presented her with the coat. She only owned one scarf, and couldn't find it the morning she flew out of Los Angeles to visit her own family. When they returned to L.A. she would go to Estelle's boutique and put a scarf on her charge account. At least she couldn't be faulted for her own kid leather gloves. Bought on sale for a huge discount due to a tiny tear along a seam that Estelle's seamstress had easily repaired, they too were Italian.

"I doubt Della has had much time to think about scarves in the past few days," Valerie coolly joined the conversation from the stair landing, letting her comment stand as a rebuke without further explanation. She descended the last few stairs and walked directly to Perry, hand held out. "Here are the keys to Bart's car. You take it and we'll drive the station wagon. The boys should be done brushing snow off of it by now."

Perry had only ever seen Della's composure slip once before as it did following Ellen's unnecessary fashion tip, and it had been a turning point in both their personal and professional lives. His natural instinct was to leap to Della's defense, but sensed that this was the first salvo fired in the female version of a pissing match and he would be wise to turn tail and run. Women certainly took their clothing seriously. Thank heaven for Valerie's impeccably timed arrival and efficient diffusion of Ellen's resurgent attitude or he may have committed a truly unforgivable offense this time.

Valerie shooed Perry, Della, and Ellen out the door, reminding them that services began at eleven and the family would most likely be sitting in the section of pews to the left of the chapel entrance, midway down.

The night was clear and bright, due primarily to the two feet of snow on the ground that glinted and glistened in a multitude of refracted colors under the street lights. It was very beautiful, and Perry would have given almost anything to be alone with Della in this picture-perfect wonderland.

Perry had his hands full escorting both women down the walkway, which the boys had done an admirable job of clearing, but where stubborn patches of ice remained, and once the trio made it to the car there was an awkward moment when Perry realized the car was a two-door coupe. Either Ellen or Della would have to sit in the back seat, and he had a fairly good idea which one it was going to be. He was tempted to pull Della aside and suggest that she go with Val and Bart after all, but one look at her face and he knew she wasn't going to let him say it out loud, having already insisted that she accompany him. He opened the door and she climbed into the back seat with her usual grace and dignity, sliding across the upholstery toward the center of the seat. Ellen took her place in the front seat and Perry skirted the car to the driver's side.

No one had said a word since leaving the house, but once Perry started the car and backed it down the driveway, the women struck up a casual conversation, commenting on the sparkly snow, the pretty outdoor light displays in the neighborhood, how sparse traffic was, details about the impending church service. Perry listened without joining the conversation, hoping that Ellen wouldn't be bold enough to invite herself to the service or that Della wouldn't be gracious enough to invite her when she expressed interest in a religion different from the one her family practiced.

Due to the sparse traffic, the drive to Ellen's rented chalet was relatively quick, and when Perry pulled into the empty parking pad in front of it, Ellen's posture went completely rigid.

"Burt's taken the rental car," she said in a flat, controlled voice.

Della leaned forward, placing her hand on the back of the front seat and would have at that moment invited Ellen to attend church with the Mason family if Perry hadn't swiftly and firmly shaken his head. She sat back and crossed her arms over her middle. "Don't forget to call for an appointment next week, Mrs. Payne," she reminded Ellen as Perry opened the door to assist her from the car. Ellen didn't acknowledge Della's words or say good-bye to her.

Perry held Ellen's elbow as they walked up the path to the chalet. Her hands shook as she tried to fit the key into the lock and Perry took it from her, accomplishing the simple task quickly.

"Where could Burt be at this time of night on Christmas Eve? How could he leave me alone?"

"Ellen, _**you**_ left _**him**_ alone on Christmas Eve," Perry reminded her. He wasn't defending Burt, he just wanted Ellen to see herself as part of the problem and not merely an innocent bystander.

Her eyes were filled with tears once again as she looked up at him. "Th-that was b-b-business," she stammered. "He's p-probably at a bar. There c-c-can't be too many open tonight."

Perry sighed and Ellen flinched despite her best efforts not to. "Ellen, Della and I are not going to drive around town looking for Burt. There is a telephone and a telephone book inside. If you're really worried about your husband, I suggest you start calling bars."

Her tears vanished almost instantly, and Perry's heart grew heavy as those little arcing lines reappeared at the corners of her mouth. Any resemblance to the Ellen he had once known, to the carefree and caring Ellen he thought he had loved, disappeared along with those tears. It wasn't his fault she had problems – and the problems involving Burt Payne were _definitely _not his fault.

"It really didn't mean anything to you, did it?" Ellen stood in the doorway, one foot on the threshold, the other still on the deck.

Perry took her hand in his. "It did once, Ellen, but not anymore. A lot has happened to both of us since college. We're very different than we were back then."

"I'll say," Ellen agreed with pointed sarcasm.

"I said _**we're**_ different. I'm not the only who changed."

Ellen flinched again, but no tears threatened. "The Perry I knew wouldn't leave me alone on Christmas Eve. He would help me," she challenged, recovering quickly from the sting of his words. "I don't think this new Perry is an improvement."

"I am trying to help you, Ellen." The 'new Perry'. He almost smiled. He thought the 'new Perry' was a vast improvement on the 'old Perry', and the genuine gauge of that improvement was waiting for him in the car. If a woman as wondrous as Della could…_like_ him, then he would continue on this same path of improvement, because it was a good path. "And the best way I can help you right now is to advise you to help yourself." He bowed slightly and left her standing in the doorway, angry, confused, and speechless.

* * *

Della had gotten out of the car and was leaning against it on her back, holding a half-smoked cigarette, head tilted, staring up at the sky.

"The stars are actually silver," she said, awestruck, not turning toward the sound of his shoes crunch-squeaking over the hard-packed snow. "I swear stars don't look like this in L.A."

"Pinpoints of light," Perry said, removing the cigarette from her hand and tossing is aside. "That's what my mother called it. I guess the proper art term would be _pointillism_. She would give me construction paper and push pins and I would make designs by poking holes in the paper. Then we would hold the paper up to a lamp and the light would shine through the holes. That's what night skies like this remind me of."

"How can I stay mad at you when you tell me things like that?"

Perry chuckled softly as he reached around her to open the passenger door. "Let's get you to church, young lady."

Perry helped Della into the car and walked around to the driver's side, taking a moment to admire Della's silver stars and breathe in the cold, clear air. As he slid behind the wheel, he noticed that she had settled herself near the center of the front seat. Not as close as she sometimes sat, snuggled up to him after a long, tiring case, her hands wrapped around his right arm, head on his shoulder, but close enough for him to know the 'new Perry' had finally done something good.

"Do you want to stay mad at me?"

"Yes," she said quickly, then after a moment of thought, "No." She twiddled her gloved fingers in her lap. "Maybe."

Perry chuckled again. "Nothing like letting a man know where he stands, Miss Street."

"That's the best I can do right now. Do we really have to leave her alone on Christmas Eve?"

His face hardened momentarily. "Yes."

"Mrs. Payne and I talked a bit after you went upstairs," Della told him. "She's fed up with Mr. Payne, but she still loves him."

That observation surprised Perry. "You think?"

"I know."

"She says she's calling Harvey to begin divorce proceedings the day after Christmas."

"It's a scare tactic. When he's not drinking he's quite charming, otherwise she wouldn't have married him. I don't think this is the first time she's talked about divorcing him. The threat probably sobers him up for a period of time."

"That's very interesting."

"Not really."

Perry burst out laughing.

"What's truly interesting is that somehow all I want to do is help her."

_Good Lord, this woman is amazing_.

Perry couldn't help feeling somewhat vindicated for his recent behavior, but knowing better than to say _one word_ about that feeling, he took his hand off the wheel and sought Della's. "She's a client. We'll help her."

Della's slow, radiant smile was further proof that 'new Perry' was definitely better than 'old Perry'.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The church parking lot was crammed to capacity with cars of all ages, sizes, and shapes. Perry explained to Della that the reverend at this church was well-known for his special services, and regular parishioners as well as a plethora of non-church goers attended Christmas Eve service because it was soul-affirming…and abbreviated.

Because the service was due to begin in just a few minutes, there were only a few stragglers filing into the church. Perry pulled Bart's car alongside the curb in front of the entryway and helped Della out and up several steps to the heavy wooden doors. Inside, he took off her coat and hung it on the overflowing rack in the vestibule. Della expressed concern, but he waved it off, calling attention to several other fur coats on the rack, reminding her that the pews would be jammed with people and that her coat took up a lot of space.

He didn't take off his own coat, though, and when she opened her mouth to ask him why, he placed two fingers over her lips. "I'm not going in," he told her quietly, guessing what was on her mind. "There are a couple of things I need to do." The pressure of his fingers against her lips increased when she tried again to speak. "I'll be back. I'll be back to pick you up, I promise. I don't feel comfortable going in there tonight. Look, here's Brad. He'll take you to your seat."

"Here of all places is where you should feel comfortable, Chief." She was hurt and angry, and afraid to say much more, because Brad walked up at that moment and a teenage boy didn't need to hear that kind of language.

"Della, I promise. I'll be here when the service is over." He passed her over to Brad, who looked at his uncle as if he were crazy. "I'm not going in," he explained to his nephew. "Enjoy the service."

_I would enjoy it more with you beside me_, she thought peevishly, disappointment in him returning full-force.

"Uncle Perry's a jerk," Brad said, patting Della's hand, as the subject of his epithet exited the church. "I'll be your escort whenever you need one, Della."

Della hugged her employer's self-proclaimed favorite nephew. "I may just take you up on that, Brad. Let's go inside. The service is about to start."

They hurried down the center aisle and Brad stood aside for Della to precede him into the pew, but his father had different ideas, motioning for the boy to slide in first and placing Della next to him. Since he was handling the offering, Bart sat on the aisle.

"Where's Perry?" Bart asked.

Brad leaned forward and rolled his eyes. "Uncle Perry's being a jerk again. He left."

Della sat straight in the pew, looking toward the violet-draped altar of Advent with stinging eyes, fighting so many emotions she didn't know if she would be able to remain seated for the entire one-hour service. At some point the reverend was bound to say something that would either make her cry or want to scream. Perry had apologized and apologized, claimed numerous times that the only thing he wanted was for her to have a nice Christmas, and had said he could learn from his mistakes, only to do another numbingly nonsensical thing.

"Miss Street, on behalf of my brother, I'd like to apologize," Bart shifted his large body slightly in the pew to take in Della's attractive profile. He had to admit that Della was the prettiest of Perry's women, as well as the most pleasant, and his suspicions about her intentions toward Perry were unfounded and quite ludicrous. Della Street had proven herself to be a lady from top to bottom, clearly exposing _Perry_ as the one he should have been suspicious of. The almost villainous invitation he'd extended to Ellen Payne would rank as one of his greatest regrets for having hurt this poised young woman.

"I appreciate it, Mr. Mason," Della replied, her voice sounding choked to her own ears, "but you don't have to apologize for Perry."

"Ah, but I must, and I assure you this does not come from my wife nor the influence our current surroundings. I've been a boor, and we all agree my brother has been a jerk," he paused when a wee smile touched her lips, "but I fear some of his worst behavior has been in direct reaction to my own bad behavior. Della, I'm sorry if anything I've said or done has offended you or hurt you in any way. You've rolled with the punches, and if it's any consolation at all, right now I would much prefer that you were part of this family instead of my own brother."

Della turned to meet Bart Mason's eyes, the same blue as those up until two days ago she thought she might look into forever, and the sincerity she found there touched her wounded heart. "Thank you, Bart," she said softly.

There wasn't time for more conversation because the reverend stepped behind the pulpit, and following a short greeting, bade the congregation to stand and sing _O Holy Night_. Della stood unsteadily and Bart placed his arm around her shoulders, pulling her reassuringly to his side.

Della had not attended church since moving to California, but up until that time had attended Sunday school since the age of two, graduating to regular church services at thirteen when children were given their own Bible with their names inscribed in gold leaf. While she rather enjoyed Sunday school and the teaching reverend, she did not particularly enjoy sitting through a two-hour sermon from the senior reverend, who tended to rant shrilly at his flock. Coincidentally raised in the same Protestant denomination as that of the Bartholomew Mason family, Della found it comforting to recognize the basic format of the service: music, worship, offering (accompanied by The Common Doxology, which she had always found lovely), the changing of the liturgical colors from Advent violet to Christmas white, and finally the altar call. In this particular service there was no altar call, instead, immediately following the offering, perfectly timed to the stroke of midnight, the liturgical banners were exchanged violet for white, and then it was over.

Bart did not return directly from gathering the offering, and Valerie gently urged Della to mingle with the congregation, some of whom she already knew from either the market or the neighborhood Christmas party, and several turned out to be colleagues of Bart's at the university, including his offensive coach, the oft-referred to tall, dark, and handsome Casey Banks. Bart finally reappeared and they all made their way to the vestibule to collect their coats, pausing to speak with one acquaintance or another on the way.

Disappointed didn't come close to describing Della's reaction to not finding Perry waiting for them. Ever gallant, Brad offered to fetch her coat, and she waited patiently next to Valerie by the entrance, trying not to let her dejection show so soon after the wonderful Christmas Eve service. When Brad returned he held not just her coat, but a beautiful silk chiffon scarf in a most spectacular shade of green, embellished with glass beads in multi-colored geometric patterns.

"Oh honey," she said, "that's not my coat…"

Brad stopped in his tracks, clearly confused. He had thought the coat he held was Della's, it was the only fur coat left on the rack.

Valerie gasped softly, chuckled, and gave Della a little push toward Brad. "It's your coat," she assured her, smiling almost conspiratorially.

Della inspected the coat. It was definitely hers. "But I didn't have a scarf." _We __**all**__ know I didn't have a scarf. _She slid her arms into the coat, remembering how she'd cried when Perry had given it to her, and how she felt like crying right now, unable to roll with this latest punch.

Valerie took the scarf from her son and placed it around Della's neck. "Della, do you remember when I left you in the shoe department at the store the other day?"

Della looked confused for a moment, then her expression cleared. "Yes. I didn't realize you had gone anywhere until I noticed you had a package…" her eyes widened almost in alarm. "Val! You didn't buy this for me! It's too expensive…"

Valerie laughed again and pulled Della into a hug. "I _**bought**_ it, dear, but I didn't _**pay**_ for it," she whispered in Della's ear.

Della held Valerie at arm's length, unable to speak. Valerie's self-satisfied smile was the only encouragement she needed to spin toward the doors, give the push bar a mighty shove, and burst out into the winter night, the sweep of her coat swirling around her calves, competing with the sigh of rustling silk and tulle.

There were still twenty or so cars in the parking lot, and a goodly number of people standing in little groups on the sidewalk in front of the church, which seemed like a lot to Della given how long they had waited for Bart to finish with his offering duties. This is what she saw first.

What she saw next buckled her knees and she had to grab hold of the metal railing to keep from falling down the concrete steps in an inglorious heap.

Perry had returned as he'd promised and was nonchalantly leaning against Bart's car, grinning from ear-to-ear, ridiculously dimpled. Next to him, on the ground, was a wooden box upon which a snow-filled galvanized steel bucket had been placed, out of which protruded the neck of a bottle.

The crowd that had gathered at the bottom of the steps parted and she somehow found the strength to descend, even though every muscle and nerve twanged. She didn't take her eyes off of Perry; she couldn't, she didn't dare, or else she might still wind up in an inglorious heap. The crowd murmured and whispered around her, but no words registered. There was only Perry, waiting for her as he said he would be.

Della walked toward Perry calmly and unhurriedly – at least that's how she hoped she was walking – and when she was approximately three feet from him, came to a halt. She was still trembling, and he could probably tell, but she wasn't about to make a darn thing easy for him.

"I told you I would come back," he said, puffing out his chest proudly like a male grouse in a mating dance.

"Never had a doubt." She held her arms stiffly at her sides, mostly to keep them from jumping and twitching nervously. Had her voice cracked on the word 'never'?

"The scarf looks nice."

"Thank you. Valerie did a good job picking it out for you."

"I only hire the best."

Della let that go. "I shouldn't accept it. The coat, the boots, the scarf…it's all too much."

He continued to lean his hip against the car, but now brought his arms up to fold them over his chest as he regarded her with dark, simmering eyes. "I had a speech all worked out. I paced and everything."

"Serious stuff," she said, the beginnings of a smile fluttering at the corners of her mouth. The way he looked at her should have made her tremble, but it had the complete opposite effect, as the trembling already plaguing her began to calm.

Perry bent and lifted a bottle of champagne, the bottle Ellen had brought to celebrate Burt's signed contract, from the galvanized bucket. He nodded his head toward the church. "I'm probably breaking a dozen non-secular rules and several city ordinances having a bottle of champagne in the parking lot of a church, but…" he placed his thumbs beneath the cork and with a loud _pop_ it flew into the air, landing in the bed of an International pick-up truck several feet away. A small cheer went up from the crowd that still thronged in front of the church, and he grinned at her as he poured the icy champagne into two of Valerie's etched crystal wedding champagne stems. He held a glass out to her, and she had to take a step closer to him to accept it.

"My speech," he began, spinning the delicate stem between his fingers slowly, "was self-righteous, self-serving, and fatuous. I had already decided not to give it to you even before you flew through those doors and almost fell down the steps."

"Oh that," she said, coloring slightly. "You weren't supposed to notice."

He dropped his chin to his chest and leveled his gaze at her. "You thought I wasn't here."

She didn't answer. She couldn't. He knew the answer anyway.

"This isn't a game I'm playing with you, Della. I didn't drop you off as a test of your trust in me, but I realize now it might have appeared that way."

"Why _**did**_ you do that?"

"I told you. I didn't feel comfortable. I haven't exactly been at my best lately." He presented those dangerous dimples to her. "Besides, I had to set this all up and practice my speech."

"You've piqued my curiosity. Are you sure you aren't going to give that speech?"

He shook his head. "No. You don't need to hear a speech. What you need, my dear, is to put your boots on…"

Della giggled as he opened the car door to reveal her boots resting on the seat. She handed him the untouched glass of champagne, and 'Little Miss I'll Do It,' quickly exchanged her stylish but inadequate suede pumps for the warmth of fur and wool felt. Perry returned a glass to her, closed the car door, held his glass aloft, and cleared his throat.

"I wanted you to have something to open on Christmas day," he went on, "so when Val mentioned you should have a scarf to wear with your coat, I asked her to pick out the prettiest one in Ogden."

"I think she succeeded," Della interjected, mimicking his pre-toast stance, stem held in the air.

"But I got to thinking," he continued, glaring at her for interrupting, "that you needed the scarf tonight, and opening a gift in church, or more precisely in a church_ parking lot_, didn't seem appropriate. So I opened your nicely wrapped present, snuck into the vestibule, and hung the scarf with your coat."

"It definitely was a surprise. You shouldn't have…"

"I have a lot to say," he interrupted. "If you keep interrupting we'll be here all night."

"I thought you weren't going to give a speech," she retorted.

"I'm not giving a speech. I'm _**explaining**_."

She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering with laughter. "Then by all means, continue. My arm is getting tired."

"That's not _my_ fault. Now, after church, I would have driven you back to the house, where we might have had a liqueur and necked a little in front of a crackling fire."

Della moved her head slowly from side to side, biting down so hard on her lip she thought she would surely draw blood.

"No?" Perry looked crestfallen. "Well, then maybe we would have held hands by the Christmas tree?"

Della nodded almost imperceptibly.

"And tomorrow you would have opened a nicely wrapped present in front of five virtual strangers and one repentant boss who must _seem_ like a stranger…and it would have been _nice_."

"It has been nice," Della interposed, "on and off."

"Well, you don't need _nice._ You need a grand gesture." He stepped closer to her. "You need to be showered with gifts and accept them without protest. You need to drink champagne beneath silver stars." He took one more step forward so that they were mere inches apart. "And you need to allow your repentant boss to kiss you so he knows all is not lost due to his stupidity."

As Perry Mason's employee, Della Street was confident, efficient, savvy. She dealt with difficult, even dangerous, situations on a daily basis, with nerves of steel and without complaint. Her very talented boss respected her, relied on her, treated her as an equal – and handsomely rewarded her loyalty and tireless pursuit of excellence in many different ways. No job had ever been as fulfilling, as exciting, as _necessary_ to her happiness and well-being.

It was the danger of Perry Mason himself that rattled her nerves of steel and knocked her off-kilter in unexpected ways. It was true what she had been saying – she hadn't expected him. Hadn't expected such magnetic attractiveness, silly humor, or hidden vulnerabilities in this intimidating man. But what she hadn't expected most was how she wanted him, how being with him somehow made her more of a woman than she thought she could ever be in her relative inexperience, and even though she had successfully thrown him out trying to steal third base several times, he kept trying. No man had ever been so patient, or so dogged.

Was all lost? She wanted to believe what she had told Valerie – that she could forgive him and they would find a way to be employer/employee as well as…_something more_. What compromises would have to be made to stay on this journey to being _something more_? How much of each other would they have to give up to be _something more_? Neither of them wanted to give up their professional relationship, recognizing it as the very substance of what drew them to one another initially, but at the same time what drew them to one another was deliciously _unprofessional_.

Could she be only his secretary? Could she be only _something more_? Could she be both?

"Yes," she whispered, raising her face to him in the silver starlight.

Perry lowered his head and placed the sweetest butterfly of a kiss on Della's lips.

A great cheer went up from the vicinity of the church steps, where a crowd still lingered, followed by approving whistles and cat-calls for the pay-off of the scene they had been blatantly spying on. Perry and Della clinked glasses, smiling only for each other.

"It's Christmas," Perry said, still holding his glass aloft.

"For almost an hour."

"We made it."

"By the skin of our teeth." Della tipped her glass and drained it, considering those the most appropriate words for a toast.

Perry did likewise. "Merry Christmas, Della."

"Merry Christmas, Chief."

Perry refilled the champagne stems. "Here's to making it to the next destination."

Della grabbed his wrist before he could drink. "Chief…I-I think I'm going to spend the New Year with Aunt Mae."

Her words were dismaying to say the least, and Perry hoped it didn't show. "I understand. You haven't seen her in several weeks."

"I want to attend Harvey's wedding with you," she went on quickly, hoping to clear that heart-wrenching expression on his face, "but…"

"I said I understand, Della. You don't have to explain."

"Yes, I do. You got to explain, now it's my turn."

"Then I won't hold my champagne glass in the air."

Della smacked his chest with the back of her hand. "Bart said something tonight that got me thinking."

Perry bristled. "Do I need to defend your honor?"

She shook her head. "No, he was contrite and sincere and told me how admirable it was that I 'rolled with the punches', but that's not entirely true. I'm still doubled over from one particular punch, and I need…_**we**_ need...to spend some time apart."

"I see." He stared at the effervescent champagne bubbles being released into the cold, clear air. "Do you want to take a leave of absence?" _Please baby, don't_.

She laughed, and it was a wonderful sound, as merry as jingle bells. "No, you goose! Why would I want to do that? Work is the one thing we have a handle on." She paused to take a sip of champagne, liquid bubbles of fortification. "What I'm saying is, maybe we shouldn't spend so much time together outside of the office."

He let her painful words sink in. "For how long?"

Della finished her champagne, took Perry's stem from him, and set both of them on the wooden box. Then she slid her arms around his waist, and laid her head over his heart, where she had tattooed her name in shorthand. "I don't know," she admitted. "For as long as it takes me to stand upright again, I guess. What happened, what you did…it hurt. I thought we were…it hurt, Chief. I don't know if I made that clear."

"Oh Della," Perry breathed into her curls, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. Another cheer from the Peeping Toms went up, this time smaller and less raucous as most of the crowd had dissipated. Perry swore he recognized his nephew's voices among those cheering.

"We were doing well," she said, "before I concocted that plan to kidnap you to the desert. That's what started all of this."

"None of what happened was your fault. I messed up, not you. I messed up the most important thing in my life, and all I can say is I'm sorry."

"We weren't ready," she said quietly, pulling one arm from around his waist and clutching at his broad chest, snuggling as close to him as possible. "It has to be right, Chief. I'm not willing to give up anything. I want everything."

_Tell her! _His subconscious screamed so loudly to his stunned consciousness he actually looked around to see if anyone else heard it. He had listened to the same traitorous devil within him in regard to Ellen, and could lose his entire future because of his weakness. Della was right, as usual. Too many office romances were potent in the stuffy confines of an office, but when exposed to the light of day shriveled to nothing. What he felt for Della, and what Della was feeling for him, _**would**_ withstand the light of day someday. She had just confirmed what he'd known from the very beginning. Telling her the true depth of his feelings would have to wait. "What do you want right now?"

"I want to go back to the house," she answered quickly, as if she'd thought about it for a long time and not merely seconds, "I want to sit by the tree and not talk unless the subject is mind-bogglingly inane." She sighed. "That's as far as I've thought it out. I kind of like that – not thinking about anything for a while."

As if anything Della Street said could ever be inane. This was a woman who spoke literal volumes with one word, who could bring home a point more effectively than he could with his greatest summations by simply twitching an eyebrow. Perry squeezed Della to him. This particular destination had not been exactly what either of them had hoped for, but the next destination…oh, that might be the best yet.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Bartholomew Mason stood on the top step, his wife's hand tucked securely in the crook of his elbow, watching the romantic vignette set up by his younger brother for the woman who was already a part of his family. Aunt Della. Bart had been concerned about the willingness of his sons to accept Miss Street so readily, but as Valerie had pointed out, they were obviously more adept at judging character than he.

"Fourth of July," he said abruptly.

Valerie looked up at her husband with teary eyes. Maybe Perry wasn't such a jerk after all. "What's that, dear?" And her husband had come through admirably as well.

"Fourth of July," Bart repeated, nodding toward the embracing couple in the parking lot. "By then those two will have figured everything out."

Valerie lifted her husband's arm and tucked herself against his big, comforting presence. It might be sacrilegious to bet while standing just outside the doors of a church, but what the heck. "I say more like Easter."

End

* * *

_Note: I promised to answer questions regarding this story, and since I simply couldn't end with chapter 13, I split out this last scene for the shortest chapter you'll probably ever see from me. _

_A thoughtful question was posed in regard to believability and character behavior, and that was: "…__if you were to change anything about this story to strengthen it, would you write the same behavior for Perry? And the same circumstances?...__"_

_My answer to that may sound flip, but it is, in truth: I __**did**__ change behavior and circumstances._

_I had never written anything creatively before I started writing fanfiction three years ago when I had A LOT of time on my hands, and went at it from lessons learned by Josephine March and Anne Shirley: Keep it real and write what you know. _

_The two largest points in this story were taken from real life, as are most of the plot points in my stories. I changed the setting from a family New Year's Eve party at which two former lovers were reunited by a family who didn't like the man's new fiancé, as well as the degree to which those two people, um, 'reunited', at that party, because it sets up a very important thread in my PM universe. The two real-life people didn't know why they did what they did, and I wanted to explore that with Perry, to give him a puzzle he couldn't easily solve. By doing so, the axis of the story evolves, which is that expectations, i.e., __**destinations**__, are sometimes disappointing._

_The subplot involving Ellen's mother's arranged marriage is actually my own maternal grandmother's story, and it is truly a fascinating one. Her name was Isabelle Josephine Dorothy Gaideski Tokarski Angle, and she was a great hero in my life. I'm not abandoning Ellen's subplot. It will reappear in another story. _

_The question of Della's age was brought up as well. My characters are novel-based, and in TCOT Caretaker's Cat, Perry and Della have a teasing conversation of about how much his junior she really is. He claims 15 years, and she counters he's flattering her. In the earlier novels, Della was attractive, sharp, funny, savvy, and spunky, obviously younger than Perry, but often the more thoughtful and responsible. In the novels written during and after the reign of the television show, her character, as well as their very entertaining repartee, was toned down. In my PM universe she is 9 – 11 years Perry's junior, and 23 in this story. I base that on descriptions of her being 27 in the early novels, but having had a 'long, close association' with Perry. _

_I hope I answered the questions satisfactorily. I had a lot of fun building my PM universe and even more fun writing the stories. Thank you to all for reading and commenting. It is the greatest reward you can imagine, and I welcome any questions/critiques. And I'm so happy to be finished, because now I can read all the postings and new stories I've not read. It's wonderful to see new authors posting and keeping this fandom current._

_~D_


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